


Little Eyes

by Ketakoshka



Series: Monster Jon [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anabelle Cane is Jon's Aunt, Basira Hussain is Ashes, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Elias Bouchard Being a Bastard, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Monster!Jon, Multi, Nikola Orsinov is Toy Soldier, Other, Selectively Mute Jon, The Mechanisms Were The Archivist's College Band, but - Freeform, elias is less of a dick to jon, hard of hearing Martin, jon is the beholding's kid, mostly he doesn't like talking to people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 24,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ketakoshka/pseuds/Ketakoshka
Summary: Parents are meant to help their children grow; help them learn what this world is about and how to survive it… The Beholding Knew these things, of course… But Knowing and being able to accomplish such things are two different beasts.-Jon is the Beholding's kid.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, The Beholding & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Monster Jon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843834
Comments: 260
Kudos: 719





	1. Parental Woes

**Author's Note:**

> Important Information about this AU:
> 
> I decided to make Annabelle Cane older than what she says in canon so she can meet Jon while he's a child.
> 
> Jon's middle name (the name the Beholding gave him) is the same as the Grigori (watcher angel) who gave humans paper and ink.
> 
> Nikola didn't kill Danny Stoker (another Stranger did).
> 
> When people sign, I will be writing it out in speech, but that speech will be closer to what is actually being signed. For example: "You send spiders. I know." means "You'll send spiders. I know that."

_ “Are you having a nightmare again, little eye?” _

_ “You don’t need to be scared… I’m right here… Right in your head and heart… in every breath you breathe and every eye you see… I’m right here.” _

Jon was an easy child, most of the time, but Elise Sims often wondered how she wound up in such a mess. She knew that her daughter and son-in-law were part of a strange group of people… always bringing back odd trinkets and books that they made her promise not to look at or touch… But the day they brought Jon home, that was when she finally accepted that nothing would be normal again.

_ “Hush little eye, _

_ There’s no need to cry… _

_ Though the world is not like us.” _

Taru and Mary Ellen insisted that Jon was their child, and from a quick glance, Jon did seem to match a possible child between them. He had curly black hair and dark skin like Taru and a smattering of Mary Ellen’s freckles as well as her hazel eyes… True, the hazel tended to look more green in the child but not an off-colored green, right?

But Elise knew that Jon was not her biological grandson; Mary Ellen had an emergency oophorectomy four years earlier, and Taru had admitted to being infertile… And most damning of all, they lived with Elise, and Mary Ellen didn’t look pregnant for any amount of time.

Regardless of what they insisted, Jon isn’t blood.

_ “They might stop loving, _

_ They’re scared of nothing _

_ But the wind howling at the door.” _

When Taru died, Jon was staring out at the open sky and suddenly began bawling. Neither Mary Ellen or Elise could convince the child that Taru was alright… because Jon Knew.

When the call came in and confirmed what the child was insisting, Elise couldn’t stand being around the little  _ thing.  _ She tried warning her daughter, but Mary Ellen insisted that Jon hadn’t been the cause. She tried to tell Elise about Taru’s death being a result of the Vast, but Elise didn’t know what that meant… She still doesn’t.

_ "There’s no scream _

_ That we’ve not Seen _

_ And twisted to our use." _

Mary Ellen made it five more years before she too was ripped from Jon's life by the insidious hand of the Corruption. She was doing so well after surgery before her blood turned poisonous, and she was taken into the hospital again. He cried and wailed for hours before the call came in; she'd gone septic, and the doctors couldn't save her.

Elise was already a distant woman, but she was certain, in the way that only lies allow, that Jon had killed her daughter. So, she became colder, only giving the child the barest of necessities.

Then without warning, Jon stopped speaking.

_ "Hush little eye, _

_ There’s no need to cry… _

_ Though the world is not like us" _

Despite utter silence from the child, Jon's room was rarely quiet between the sounds of a hyperactive child playing to the strange staticky voice that would talk and sing. Elise had assumed that it was a strange program on tv, but she'd thrown out his television shortly after Mary Ellen's death… and still the voice persisted.

It would tell Jon things… things that chilled Elise to the core. And she knew that she couldn't take that  _ thing's  _ intrusion on her life anymore.

_ "They might bend and break _

_ The bonds they make,  _

_ But they’ll never get away." _

The Leitner called to her… the way they always do, and when her fingers traced the embossed spider, she Knew that the book was dangerous. She Knew that the picture book could kill an unwary child… She wondered if it would remove the  _ thing _ from her life.

So she brought it home, and gave it to Jon.

_ "They might tempt for a while _

_ For a chance at a smile, _

_ But they’ll never know you like me _ ."

Mr. Spider stared at the silent boy with confusion. He could feel the Beholding within the child, and he wondered how the Beholding's own could end up walking to his domain. He wondered if the boy was an offering, if he'd be a tasty morsel… but then he could see the green in the boy's eyes, and he Knew.

He shut the door on Jon's face to hide from the Eye's gaze, but he swore he was still being watched.

_ “Hush little eye, _

_ There’s no need to cry… _

_ Though the world is not like us.” _

Annabelle Cane had done many things, manipulated many people and torched many relationships over the course of her tumultuous life. However, being threatened by the Eye to take care of a child, that was undoubtedly a new one. She had heard from Mr. Spider that the Eye had claimed a youngling, but that did little to prepare her for coming face to face with one Jonathan Penemue Sims.

The door to the house was standing open when she arrived, but the air around it was still and drenched with fog. She didn't feel any touch of the Lonely, so she counted herself lucky that the fog was natural. Still she crept lightly into the house, listening for any sound, any indication that people still lived.

And she heard them.

An old woman, shivering and huddled in a broken chair, sobbed weakly as she rocked back and forth, trying to push the images from her mind: her daughter's rotting face, her son-in-law's broken body as it smacks against the ground, the spider she tried to feed Jon to… The images wouldn't let her be at least not until Annabelle touched her head with soft fingertips, her dark eyes promising relief, and then… Elise Sims was no more than a puppet, awake and aware in the most basic of ways but existing only for one purpose: to take care of Jon… but not to raise him.

No, that particular job was to be shared, between Annabelle and the Beholding itself.

Suddenly, a staticky, whining, crooning voice spilled from a room down the hall, and she realized that it had been speaking the whole time but hiding itself from her. She didn't understand the words, but they weren't for her.

Then, out came a little boy with dark curls and hauntingly vivid green eyes. In one arm, he held a stuffed bear with far too many eyes, and in the other, a tape recorder that endlessly spat out words that she could not understand.

“Hello, little one… How old are you?” Annabelle asked, half-expecting to hear five or six, but Jon didn’t speak. He looked around before walking to the other chair and placing the toy and suddenly silent recorder down. Then he turned around to look at her and held up eight fingers. “You’re eight?” He nodded. “Can you speak?” He nodded again but paused and shook his head.

Before she could continue on questioning him, the tape recorder whirred to life, and at last, she understood the voice.  _ “Annabelle Cane… This is my youngling, Jonathan. Peneme, Annabelle is the avatar I was telling you about… She’ll help me take care of you now.” _ Jon smiled so wide that her heart sang.  _ “And Cane, he prefers not to speak, but he can write.” _

“I can work with that,” Annabelle admitted, “but what do you think about sign language?”

_ “You are mine _

_ Throughout all time _

_ And they’ll never change that fact” _

Jon took to sign language rather quickly, but when something; but Annabelle couldn’t decide what made her happier, seeing Jon’s sign for her (aunt-web) or listening to his little-used voice call out ‘Auntie Anna!’ In the same vein, she could sometimes feel the Beholding’s affection for its child when it too was referred to as Beholding (eye-parent) or ‘Ren!’

While Jon’s lack of speech caused him difficulties in school, he enjoyed the fact that few teachers would call on him and that the two deaf students called him their (silent-ear). Both of them went deaf at a young age and luckily, took to speech therapy well; so they strove to be his voice when it just wouldn't come.

Still, for Jon, the best things about school were the library where he could devour new information endlessly and music where Jon learned that his voice would come easily… when he sang.

_ “They’ll never find a way _

_ To take you from me _

_ For I am always watching you…” _

"Be okay," Jon signs, his smile soft and amused as they stand outside his dorm and wills others to move on by. "Have Beholding watching… and you send spiders. I know.”

She shifts nervously before com-signing back, “I know. You’re amazing, little eye… You’ll do amazing… But if you need anything, anything at all, let me know. If I have to turn this whole campus into puppets, I will.”

Jon’s soft, slightly strangled laugh rumbles out of him before he responds, “silly. No need worry. I will tell.”

“Good…” She opens her arms wide, and with barely a moment’s hesitation, Jon lets himself be swallowed in her hug.

He clings tightly to her; he doesn’t want to let go yet… not even to sign, but his voice comes. “Love you, Auntie Anna…”

“I love you too.”

Far away, Elise’s puppetted body finally walks itself out into the nearby park and knocks on a spider’s door… She isn’t needed anymore.


	2. Georgie Barker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tim in the back of the group is Gunpowder Tim, not Stoker. Also... I am sorry... I could not help myself.

University is a strange place, Jon decides. The sudden influx of strangers you never knew in a place where you've never been and don't fully trust… there's a heady current of anxiety and existential dread. He can taste the dread horrors in the nooks and crannies of the buildings and in the aversion of eyes and the swaths of darkness and fog that sink in close before the sun rises.

He can feel his aunts spiders as they crawl through every building he spends time in, and in the quiet hours of the night or in the empty stacks of the library, he can feel his Ren’s presence… They’re a balm to the strange… normalcy that surrounds him.

When he sits in the grass beneath the shadows of those old, whispering buildings, he watches students go by… and so many of them have no lingering marks from the dread horror… and many more have never tasted that true, bone-deep horror.

He feels lucky that he got a single-person accommodation, even if it is one meant for a Deaf student. He doesn't think he could stomach living with one of them… He doesn't think he could hide the way he curls around his Ren's tapes or chats endlessly to the spiders… He doesn't know if he could stop himself from compelling that poor soul every second his voice would come until they too understood the touch of being known so completely.

Still, sometimes, he envies the casual way the other new students are making friends, and he often sifts through the clubs that are going to have events before the second week ends… but he's worried that he'll only alienate himself further by being unable to really contribute…

No Jon fully anticipates spending most of his time alone apart from the spiders and his Ren, until he happens upon a flyer for one of the LGBT+ organizations: ORGaSM (Oxford Romantic, Gender and Sexuality Minorities), and after laughing so hard that he forgets how to breathe for a few scant moments, he decides… that just this once, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to go.

* * *

The group is somehow bigger than he expected but still smaller than the name alone should draw people in, but he wonders if that’s due to it being the first meeting and also on a Wednesday… at 9pm.

Jon finds himself sitting against the right wall and presses his back up against the stone so he can watch everyone filtering in. He tastes the trauma that enters the room, more potent than in the wide open courtyards, but nothing is of the right  _ kind _ until…

“Can I sit here?” Jon nods and offers a soft smile to the woman sporting the End’s peculiar blend of acceptance and misery. “I’m Georgie.” In turn, Jon scratches out his own name in the notebook next to him with a quick note about his condition. “Ah… Do you sign? I know a little…” As she says this, she comsigns, and Jon’s so happy that he can barely remember how to respond affirmatively. “Cool.”

They spend the next few minutes idly chatting with Jon teaching Georgie a few words that weren’t in her vocabulary before a slightly haggard woman in a gold and black hijab stands up 

“So welcome to ORGaSM. First order of business, we have to vote on whether or not we’re changing the name. All in favor of changing it raise your hand…” Absolutely no one raises their hand, and the young woman groans and drops her head. “Alright, Tim’s stupid name stays.”

At that, a guy in the back snickers loudly and calls out, “you’re never going to get it changed Basira.”

She rolls her eyes. “Anyways… Since this is our first meeting of the year, we might as well have everyone go around and introduce themselves. Standard first time bullshit: name, where you came from, area of study, fun fact, and if you feel up to it, your gender, romantic and sexual orientation. Hell, I’ll even go first.

“My name is Basira Hussain. I’m from Birmingham. Medical Science. And I and all of my siblings are gay.”

The moment she finishes, Jon goes absolutely ridged, not sure how to take care of this problem. He’d been able to write on the whiteboard in his other classes, but there’s no whiteboard in here. He doesn’t want to be seen as a freak. He 

Jon’s startled out of his spiraling by Georgie’s quiet ‘hey’, and she pushes the notebook back in front of him. “Write down what you want to say, and I’ll introduce you,” Georgie whispers, and Jon smiles so wide that his cheeks hurt.

He barely pays attention to the other people as he tries to make his handwriting as neat as possible, but he does hear some really interesting facts and names.

-“Tim” has been arrested twice by Basira’s uncle.

-One woman’s name is Anastasia, but she goes by Nastya.

-Another is named Raphella.

-One enby said that they came from a cult: Jon can feel the dregs of Dark around her.

Then, it’s suddenly Georgie’s turn. “Well, I’m Georgina Barker from Yorkshire, but I go by Georgie… and if Tim tries to get everyone to call me George again, I am going to change every instance of his name into Time. I'm in medical science with Basira… just a year behind because I was in a coma last year after an unpleasant encounter with a talking cadaver. If you don't believe me, I don't give a damn… also I'm hella bi." She glances over at Jon to give him a reassuring smile. “And my adorable friend here is mostly mute, so I’m introducing him.”

Jon blushes and drops his head slightly into the baggy collar of his oversized turtleneck.

“This is Jonathan Sims, but he prefers Jon. He's parapsychology, came from Bournemouth, was raised by his lesbian adoptive aunt after his grandmother… What the fuck Jon?" He nods encouragingly. "After his grandmother had a mental breakdown and tried to kill him?? And is pretty sure he's ace."

It's dead silent for about two minutes before the guy in the back, Tim says, "well, you must have been a terrible kid."

Jon only grins and shrugs his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stan Basira. I really do.
> 
> So, next chapter starts the following year with Jon and Georgie moving in together.


	3. And They Were Flatmates

Her fingers stroke the back of his neck, a smile playing upon her lips as Jon burrows into her stomach with a pleased little sound. A spider skitters across the coffee table next to them, but Georgie can't bring herself to give a damn when Jon's so soft & sweet in this half asleep state.

And yet again, she's so glad that she asked Jon to become her flatmate.

_ "You sure?" he asked with the lethal combination of wide, innocent eyes and shaking hands. _

_ Even if she'd wanted to fuck with him, it feels wrong to do it when he's looking at her like she hung the moon with her bare hands. "Of course. I would love to live with you." _

_ "But I messy, loud, weird." _

_ She grasps his hands softly. "Jonathan Penemue Sims. I want to move in with you. I don't care if you’re messy or leave notebooks everywhere. And I absolutely guarantee I’ve lived with louder people than you... Hell, my first dormmate played nothing but classical music, had a trombone & had sex in the kitchen... Compared to her, you're a godsend." _

_ Jon blushes. "Never lived with someone else..." He picks at the hem of his hoodie. "Can I play my harmonica?" _

_ "You can play whatever you want." _

* * *

Georgie sometimes wonders if Jon's cheating his way through classes; out of everyone she knows, he has the highest gpa and most consistent grades, yet, she barely sees him study and his papers are always done early and well...

But the day Jon comes into the library where Tim, Basira, Raph and Nastya are studying with her, she realizes that Jonathan Sims is really that smart. He's been crying; there are thin black streaks down his cheeks... But Georgie hadn't noticed him putting on Mascara that morning. His hands are restlessly tugging at his shirt and bag and each other, and thin, raspy but warbly noises make their way out of his mouth. He wants to speak, but the sounds refuse to be reformed into coherent words.

"Jon!" Georgie's so panicked that she forgets how to consign, and a small part of her is glad that Jon isn’t deaf too. "What happened?!"

"Thinks I cheated. Won't let me sign... no write." He lets out a strangled whine. "Want report me for cheating. I didn't."

"Who Jon?"

"Crowse. Adolescent psychology."

Georgie finally stands, a small package of baby wipes in her hand. "Can I clean up your face?" she asks, and when he nods, she moves so slowly, worried that she'll startle him. The black streaks are strangely stubborn for even the best mascara, and Georgie briefly wonders where he got it from.

"Jon…" Tim sets down his pen. "Why did she think you were cheating?"

Georgie moves over to his right side to let him sign; she's curious too, but she  _ needs  _ to make him look more like himself.

"Finished test fast. 10 minutes. Multiple-choice. I knew information. No cheat." He drops his head slightly but puts it back up when Georgie moves his hair out of the way. "Thinks I fake mute."

All at once, the table is full of enraged students, and Jon's being drug into the dean's office to complain about this professor's clear dislike of Jon. He doesn't know why they're making such a huge fuss over him, but he's happy nonetheless. 

Jon doesn't speak much throughout the confrontation, because Tim is the one ready to tear out some throats. He hollers and hisses until he's run out of breath, and Basira jumps in with legalities of the situation before Tim regains his wind.

By the time they're done, the dean is quick to assure them that the professor will be spoken to and investigated for discrimination against a disabled student; Beholding whispers into Jon's head that regardless of what the university does, it will rend her mind under its gaze.

There's a warm feeling in his bones when his friend's step close to guard him from prying eyes… He wonders what he did to get them.

When they get out of the building, Jon hugs Tim tight and pulls away quickly before making the sign for explosion with his right hand forming a T.

"Huh?"

Jon smiles up at Tim and repeats the gesture. "You explode with anger but protect us… like..." Suddenly, his soft voice croons, "like gunpowder."

* * *

Georgie is of the opinion that when Jon's in his room, he can do what he wants as long as it's not dangerous or overly illegal, but many times, she's wondered what on earth he listens to. There's a voice filled with static and silk and the thrumming weight of love that spills out of his room at least once a week. Whatever language the voice croons in isn't something that she or even google translate can decipher, and sometimes when it's late at night, she thinks that it's singing.

But still, she is curious, and one night, when the voice is rolling through the silence, she walks over to his room to find it open. He's sitting on his bed with a tape recorder in front of him and a worn teddy bear with far too many eyes in his lap. He looks so happy… so soft and sweet and calm.

"Jon?"

He looks at her quickly and smiles slightly; there's worry in his eyes. "It's my Ren," he signs and holds out a tape to her with such gentleness that she's terrified to take it.

Yet she does, and when her fingers touch the scuffed thing, she remembers Jon telling her that Ren is what he calls his remaining parent… that his Ren is agender and has a voice of static and silk. Now she knows what that means, but she's still at a loss…

But she doesn't ask… doesn't insist on knowing why his Ren sends him tapes or sounds so wrong or why the language it speaks isn't anything she can find or understand…

She's just glad Jon's happy. 

* * *

Jon told Georgie about his Auntie Anna; how could he not when she asked him questions about his past… when she didn't judge him about it. However, nothing he told her could prepare her for coming face to face with Annabelle Cane.

From how Jon talked about her, Georgie assumed that she was a tall, imposing figure capable of making you feel like a microscopic bacteria, but upon seeing a slender woman that barely comes up to her shoulders, she is again struck by the realization that Jon is… tiny. 

Annabelle looks so dainty with her knee-length, black plaid dress and shiny, black flats, like a doll from the 50s who's artist felt the urge to make something so perfectly uncanny. But then, those cold, silver eyes, glittering like gossamer strands of spider silk, catch her attention beneath lovingly-styled, bleach blonde curls, and Georgie thinks that the word imposing is not enough.

"I apologize for dropping by so unexpectedly," Annabelle offers, her voice dripping with condescending formality. "But, I was in town, and I hoped to see my youngling."

"Ah…" Georgie starts and takes a moment to decide. "Well, Jon's not in right now, but he should be back soon if you'd like to come in and wait." There's an appraising look in Annabelle's eyes before she nods sharply and follows Georgie into the kitchen

They sit at the table across from one another in stilted, oppressive silence for several minutes with Annabelle sipping at her requested water before she finally speaks again. "Tell me… Why did you ask Jonathan to move in with you?"

Of all questions, Georgie isn't ready for that one… but the answer still comes so quickly. "Because he's my friend… and I wanted to look out for him."

Annabelle's mouth quirks slightly. "Jonathan is not a helpless child."

"I know that. That doesn't mean that he doesn't need someone at his back." Georgie’s frown is deep set, and her eyes narrow before she continues. "I know what happened to Jon as a kid. He told me… But he is a grown ass adult, and he chose to move in with me. And I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want him here."

The appraising expression slowly melts into one of quiet approval. "Good."

Georgie blinks in confusion before realization sets in. "Were you just testing me?"

"Of course." Annabelle truly smiles. "And you've more than passed…"

Before Georgie can attempt to interrogate her further, the door swings open, and Jon comes in with a couple of grocery bags looped around his arms. His expression brightens, and he darts into the kitchen, dumps his groceries on the counter and starts rapidly signing to Annabelle.

"Sorry," he starts. "Want make curry for dinner. Didn't know you here."

She smiles and pulls him into a tight hug before responding. "Oh, it was no trouble, little eye… I'm glad I finally got to meet one of your friends."

* * *

The old leather couch has seen  better days; it's lumpy and cracked, scratching at bare skin if the sheet slips, but Georgie doesn't mind. How could she when there's a tiny, sweet man curled up against her beneath the thickest blanket he could find? How could she when he snuggles up to her for warmth and lets out pleased little murmurs when she cards her fingers through his hair?

There are far worse things than a lumpy couch: a scary aunt… watching a discriminatory teacher jump off a roof… a harmonica playing "Immigrant Song"... a strange voice singing in a strange language...

It's all worth it to have Jon as a flatmate.


	4. Spirals and Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to introduce Brian, Marius, Nikki and Michael.

For all the apprehension that had worried at Jon's spine and sent a multitude of questions at Georgie, he looks so excited when she and Gunpowder take his hands and walk across the last streets before Nastya's converted warehouse. He's brimming with so much unbridled happiness at finally being able to come to an infamous "jam night" that he's able to babble endless facts at them. He talks about the district, the black bird-  _ a starling, Georgie _ \- that's made it's nest in the hole of an old metal A, and the wonder if his sweater: black and purple with white spider webs and bright green eyes - _ Auntie Anna made it _ \- will be too weird.

It takes a bit, as it usually does to reassure him that he looks lovely. "You know Basira, Raph, Nastya and us… Brian and Marius aren't scary, and Michael and Nikki will adore you."

Jon nods once, his voice having died once they reached the door.

Georgie presses a kiss to Jon's forehead, noting the smell of his expensive shampoo and the smattering of mica dust that sparkles in his hair, then she takes over for Gunpowder who's a bit… unsure of how to proceed. "You don't have to talk or play your harmonica or anything. You just have to trust me that this will be a good night… okay?"

He nods again and grabs their hands once more to allow them to lead him into this new place, unmarked by his Ren or the Web… But marked most shallowly by the Spiral and Stranger.

He forces himself to power through the investigative curiosity to find out how and where and why they've touched this place… It's probably old anyway.

It still claws at him, the way these things always do until they wind up in the open floor kitchen, dining nook and den where Nastya is braiding sparkling blue ribbons into Raph’s hair while they, Basira and a tall, fair-skinned stranger with lovely, voluminous hair listen to the whining of a shorter and stockier man with thick, short brown curls and sharp eyes.

“I don’t know why they expect us to know every single microscopic muscle; I’m not planning on being a goddamned surgeon!”

Jon cocks his head with a small, inquisitive noise, drawing the ranting stranger’s attention, but the gentle strokes against the back of his hands still the urge to hide at such a frustrated expression; he knows it's not towards him, but…

“Jon,” Georgie soothes, a gentle smile lightning his heart and easing the sudden tension in his body. “The whiner is Marius, and that’s Brian.”

Jon looks over at the other stranger and waves at him with the hand Gunpowder released, and then he looks back at Marius and nods once sharply. With one last look at Georgie and Gunpowder, Jon walks further into the room, his eyes searching out the spider webs that must be in a place as old as this and wondering at the lack of song from what few filaments he can see in the highest corners… They never held a song, and he wonders if he should ask his Aunt Anna to send spiders to watch out for his friend.

Slowly, he looks down and signs, “My name is Jon… Nice to meet.”

After a few quiet moments, Nastya quickly translates and informs Jon, “they’re just starting to learn sign language.”

Jon nods. “Sorry… I hear. Mute… sometimes.”

Brian is the first to recover, and after getting the translation, says, “don’t apologize. We knew ahead of time…”

“It’s…” Marius sighs. “It shouldn’t have caught us off guard. That’s our fault.”

Jon makes an X with his arms and shakes his head quickly. “Different learning than seeing.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Brian laughs, easing more of the burden in Jon’s chest, until he lets out a happy little trill. “That’s…” Jon freezes and looks up sheepishly, but before he can start rambling, his hands are stilled by the continued statement. “...a really pretty sound, Jon.”

Jon’s cheeks flush hotly, and he smiles wide enough to show off one set of sharper canines. When Nastya’s arm is thrown around his shoulders, he trills again and turns to hug the older girl who’s inspecting his hair with an appreciative gaze. “New mica?” she asks, and he nods shallowly, not wanting to hit her chin with his head.

“Ah?” Basira makes a questioning sound and rounds the counter to look at the dusting in his hair. “That’s so pretty! Where’d you get it??” Raph twists out of her chair too and makes an inquisitive noise.

“Aunt Anna,” he replies, much to the girls’ groans. “I ask later.”

“Thank you,” Raph sighs. “I don’t understand how your aunt finds all of his cool shit? Like your sweater?? How the hell does someone stumble across something like that?”

“Not found.” Jon smooths his sweater down with careful hands. “Made.”

Raphaella throws her hands up in the air. “Of fucking course.”

Before the conversation can derail further, Gunpowder cuts in as he snags a shitty beer out of the fridge. “Are Michael and Nikki going to be late?”

“Yea. They shouldn’t be too long though…” Georgie opens the fridge next and makes a soft, mocking sound of disappointment. “Not everyone has a pitcher of good vodka in their flat, Georgie.”

Georgie snorts and passes one to a snickering Jon. “That’s bottom shelf vodka, Nastya… That we pour through water filters.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Jon’s quiet snickers devolve into a loud, reedy laugh as he pulls up a picture of their system on his phone. “Fuckin’ genius you are.” Nastya buries a hand in Jon’s hair. “Biggest genius I know.”

* * *

Jon’s halfway through regaling the group about all of the ways to fix up bottom barrel booze into something more palatable but still heckin cheap when he feels that something is wrong. He turns to the front door, that looks just the same as it was… but further down, into the stairwell… out towards the entrance to the building itself…

Jon lets out a little whining sound and backs up into the counter, not reacting to the concern of those around him; he’s too focused on it coming closer… closer… just outside the door...

“Sorry we’re late!”

The door opens to reveal two taller individuals: one with curly blond hair and intoxicating eyes; Jon can see the way he fractures at the pariffery; and one with frighteningly unblemished, new skin and a wide, beautifully uncanny smile. Jon’s mind screams at the sight of these antithetical beings, and he can tell from the way their faces change upon seeing him that they  _ know. _

“What are you doing here?” the blond one - Michael - the Distortion - former Michael Shelly - avatar of the Spiral asks, and Jon feels so enclosed.

There’s no spider song… no watchers… no one… just him and the humans and the Distortion and the Stranger…

“What are you?” the Stranger, Nikola Orsinov asks, her voice taking on a light, lilting tone that does little to hide the promised violence behind it.

Jon’s voice is gone; he wants to speak… wants to call for help… wants to tell his humans to run…

“Nikki… Michael, what’s up with you guys?” Gunpowder reaches out to pull Jon close to him, stopping only once Jon flinches soundlessly. He then crosses his arms and sizes the others up. “I don’t know if this is supposed to be a joke, but you’re scaring Jon.”

“That’s not someone you should be near,” Michael snaps, and just under his own terror, Jon notices the spark of residual fear that Jon - the Beholding has wrought. “You can’t trust his kind not to stab you in the back! All they do is watch and let people die… if they don’t put you in the predicament themselves…”

_ ‘I’m not her… I’m not Gertrude! Why are you doing this?’ _ Jon knows that he’s crying; he can feel the hot trails of ink upon his cheeks. He wants to defend himself… to let Michael know that he’s not doing anything…  _ ‘What if they try to kill me? What if Ren can’t find me because of them? Can I die? Will I go back to Ren? Will I be gone? Will they kill the others for knowing me?’  _ A harsh sob racks his body and sends him reeling to the floor between the non-humans and mortals.  _ ‘I have to do something… I have to-’ _ But Jon’s so scared… so very terrified… he can’t speak… he can’t scream… he can’t - there’s a click from a tape recorder in his bag… and he screams,  **_“Ren!”_ **

A voice of static and silk spills out of yet another tape recorder, this one having appeared directly in front of him and glowing a volatile, yet soothing green.  _ “Penemue… It’s okay, little eye.”  _ Georgie’s eyes widen from confusion to shock and disbelief when she realizes who’s voice is coming from that tape recorder.  _ “You’re safe… The Stranger and Spiral will not harm you… I won’t let them.” _

There’s new, dawning horror on the instigators’ faces; they Know too.

_ “Auntie Anna will be there soon… No one will ever hurt you again.” _

“What the fuck is that?” Brian hisses, but his voice doesn’t seem to reach Jon.

Georgie answers in his stead, never taking her eyes off the recorder; it’s so low that she knows neither Nikki or Michael will hear what she said, let alone understand it. “It’s Jon’s Ren.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter picks up right where we leave off today...


	5. On Dread Horrors

Georgie finds herself kneeling beside Jon, not touching the scared man but letting him know that she's not scared of him. The tape recorder hums with a lullaby she's heard so many times, but now… now she thinks she understands it.

_ “Hush little eye, _

_ There’s no need to cry… _

_ Though the world is not like us.” _

She Knows then, Knows so deeply that nothing can twist its existence, that Jon, despite his non-human attributes and clearly monstrous parent, is just a person… just a scared young man who's so used to being hated for something that he can't control… Before she can speak, before anyone can recover from their stupor, the door to the living area slams open, and a familiar, petite yet imposing figure steps out of the black abyss behind it: Annabelle Cane.

She barely spares Nikola and Michael a second glance before she's on the floor and pulling her little one to her side and chest. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice somewhere between a croon and a hiss with the barest edge of a spider's clicking mandibles. "I'm here. I'm here now…"

Jon sobs loudly and curls tighter to her with muttered sounds vaguely resembling 'sorry'.

"Shh…" Annabelle presses a kiss to the top of his head. "You have nothing to apologize for, little eye…"

_ "Nothing at all,"  _ Beholding continues.

"What the fuck?"

Slowly, Annabelle raises her head and stares at the aspect and other avatar with a snarl and gnashed teeth. "How dare you!" she snaps. "You frighten my nephew and then interrupt?!"

Michael growls and with a twist of his existence, his fingers grow longer and sharper. "How dare we? You and the Beholding sent a little spy into our friends! How very like a spider to make someone else do their dirty work."

Jon lets out a small warbling cry and reaches out for Georgie with a frantic shake of his head.

Annabelle gives the Spiral and stranger-touched companions a quizzical look. before it dissolves into a mix of exasperation and anger. “You morons!” she snarls, “he’s not an aspect or avatar!”

“He’s drenched in the Eye!” Nikola retorts.

“Of course he is!” Annabelle’s hand ruffles into Jon’s hair, eliciting a quiet, sighing purr. “He’s the Beholding’s son!”

Both Nikola and Michael go pale. “Come again?” the former croaks.

“Jonathan is the Beholding’s son.”

“...they can have… they can have children?”

There's a strange sort of broken, staticked laugh spilling from the recorder that reminds Georgie of Jon's even if it doesn't carry the same chirpy note.  _ "It's a fairly new development," _ it replies, drawing a little laugh from Jon as well.  _ "Although, I highly doubt the others will ever… They don't have the drive… or the curiosity that I do." _ It hums, and a pleased little smile crosses Jon's face.  _ "And they certainly will never feel love like I do." _

Annabelle snorts and rolls her eyes. "Whatever Beholding. You're lucky I like your kid or I wouldn't put up with your conceited ass."

_ "Thank you for reminding me, Annabelle. And you're lucky I needed someone to look after him who wasn't likely to try feeding him to a Leitner." _

Annabelle's mouth drops open with shock, and she snaps back, "do not compare me to that bitch Elise!"

_ "I was complementing you. You're the one who took it that way!" _

"You'd think after I finally offed that mangy woman that you wouldn't bring her up again. Especially since you left Jon with her in the first place!"

_ "Don't distort the facts, Annabelle. I left Penemue with Teru and Mary Ellen because I trusted them. I cannot see into the future, and I had no reason to suspect that the Vast and Corruption would kill them… They had served me well for years!" _

"Doesn't change the fact that you waited until Elise tried to kill Jon before you contacted someone! Hell, I'm not complaining that you called me, but you could have told your watcher about him. I have no doubts that Bouchard and Richardson before him would have dropped everything to help."

_ "Can you really see either of them caring for a young child?" _

"They could have learned!"

_ "And deprived Jon of a normal childhood!" _

"Normal? I know we tried, but how is anything about this, normal?!"

After a moment more of staring at his aunt and ren arguing over the same cyclic conversation as per usual, Jon sits up with a little sigh and crokes out, "Ren…"

_ “Yes, Penemue?" _ Beholding asks, abandoning the argument so quickly that it leaves the other watchers reeling.

“Want… go home…”

Annabelle takes a half-second longer to come off of her ravenous thirst to fight with the closest thing she's had to a partner in years; not that she'd ever feel anything remotely romantic towards the eldritch being… Perhaps queerplatonic is more in line… She shakes her head and guides Jon up off of the floor, accepting the recorder and Jon’s messenger bag from Georgie. "Are you sure?" she asks, knowing that if they walk out of that door right now that Jon may never see his friends again… perhaps Georgie would come, but Annabelle severely doubts that anyone else will.

He nods sharply and sniffles a bit, trying and failing to hide the remnants of his inky tears.

"Alright…" The door still full of black abyss unveils eight glowing eyes. "Mr. Spider will take us back home… and you can sleep in your treehouse if you want. I left it just the way you did, minus the stolen books… I had to take those back to the institute, but I'll go get you more tomorrow…"

The door closes behind them with a sharp thud, leaving the flat in silence… until Georgie starts screaming.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" she shrieks and balls up her fists like she's going to punch Nikola and Michael in the face. "Jon’s never done anything to anyone! He's our friend, and we wanted him to meet you guys… I wanted him to feel more at home and safe… and then maybe he wouldn't feel so fucking scared all of the time! Maybe then he wouldn't be so frustrated about being unable to talk! And now… and now…"

"Now he's gone…" Nastya whispers and slides to the floor with her head in her hands.

Basira covers her mouth with her hands as she comes to the same realization. "He probably thinks we hate him… He's never coming back…"

Michael flinches again, and he collapses into one of the chairs, causing it to flicker between three different colors before resettling into dark red. "I… didn't think. I-I just saw-"

"Gertrude," Nikola finishes. "That's all I could think too."

"Who the fuck is Gertrude?!" Tim snaps, the grip on his beer full of white knuckles.

Michael and Nikki share a glance before the former decides to tell them the truth… the absolute full truth about him and Nikki and the dread fears. "Gertrude Robinson is the current Archivist of the Magnus Institute in London… which is a temple for the Beholding, Jon's… parent. I used to work for her not too long ago…"


	6. Amends and Mechanations

Bournemouth is louder than Georgie expects based on Jon's description, but still, it doesn't take too long for the forlorn nine to get directions to the Sims residence, even if it's accompanied by a warning about Annabelle Cane's protectiveness over the last remaining Sims.

The house they find themselves parked outside. is far from the others, sporting a Cliffside view of the sea a few miles out and a massive tree with an equally giant Treehouse. Through the soft sound of waves crashing against the shore and the wind blowing in with fervor, Georgie can just make out the music from the Treehouse. She's the one who bought Jon the new Nightwish album despite his insistence that she doesn't need to do such things... But she did, and she'd listened to it with him in the quiet hours of that night.

"Jon's in his treehouse," she says, but goes for the front door instead.

Annabelle opens it before she can knock, silver eyes bright but harsh as she takes them all in. "He's in his Treehouse," she grouses, but makes no move to attack or belittle them. "I must admit I'm surprised you all came, but…” She affixes Nikki and Michael with a glare. "As long as you aren’t here to harm or hound him, I'll make no move to stop you... Although, it's not like Beholding would let it get that far."

With that proclamation, she invites them through the tidy house sporting aiding cobwebs that sing and lots of pictures of Jon, Annabelle, Taru and Mary Ellen and out to the backyard. She then points out the ladder leading up to the Treehouse and goes back to her book and wine on the back patio.

When Jon opens the door to find the nine standing on his porch, he's equal parts overjoyed and confused. They came to see him... but, why?

“Why here?” he signs.

"To apologize, "Michael cuts in, startling Jon who hadn't noticed him or Nikki.

"Ok?"

"We shouldn't have yelled at you or judged you from first sight," Nikki continues... "regardless of our reasons, we had no right... and for that we're sorry."

"Want know reasons."

Michael drops his head and seems to curl up into himself. "Gertrude Robinson... the current archivist sacrificed me... sent me when I was before into the Distortion to die... I saw you and felt the eye... and just..."

Jon reaches out and lays a hand on Michael's, prompting the Distortion to look at him once more. "Understand... You forgiven... Friend?"

Michael blinks. "Sure."

Jon squeals with delight and asks the same question of Nikki. "If you'll have me."

Jon nods and pulls Georgie and Michael through the door to invite them all into the madness ridden hellscape of eyes he calls a treehouse.

There's streamers of eyes on the ceiling, crossing down from the rafters to the windows and door. There's a painting of a luminous green eye interlaced with mirror shards over Jon's bed as if to watch him while he sleeps. The cluttered table sports carved eyes on the legs, each one blending in from the dark wood stain. A ratty old teddy bear, taken back from the apartment, bears too many eyes and watches from the headboard beside a tiny family portrait made by tiny, inexperienced hands: Mama, Papa, Ren, Auntie Anna, and Jon; it's been years since the Sims died, but Jon still loves his adoptive parents… just as they loved him to their dying breaths.

"Uh… interesting decor," Brian tries, having locked eyes with the off-putting painting over Jon's bed.

Thankfully, the little eldritch laughs and flops down on said bed, leaving enough room for Georgie, Nastya and Gunpowder to sit with him. The others find themselves seated at the cluttered table or on the floor, careful not to sit on the paradolic eyes scattered about in the wood.

"Easy Ren see me. Feel safe." After a moment Jon grabs an empty recorder from his headboard and signs, "learn new help." With that, he turns on the recorder and sighs.  **"I… I can compel my own voice."**

Georgie squeals and pulls Jon against her. "That's amazing!"

**"I know!!"** Jon grins so widely that it must hurt, but still, he's so happy that pain is nothing to him.  **"I can't do it a lot yet… It makes me tired, but I can speak!"**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If your curious, the song I envision Jon listening to when they arrive is Last of the Wilds by Nightwish
> 
> And next chapter, we have another time skip, but this time to the Magnus Institute.


	7. Magnus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon finally meets Jonah Magnus, and Jonah learns that Jon is Beholding's son.

Jonah Magnus, or Elias Bouchard as he now calls himself, is a man of calm collection, introspection, and devious plans… However, despite the rumors circulating research and archive storage, he is not psychic. Sure, he can read surface level thoughts and see through eyes, both real and not, but he cannot see everything… and certainly not into the future.

So, when Elias steps into his office to find a young man in a long black dress with green accent flowers that fall sparsely down the skirt to clump together at the hem, he is not sure what's going on. The young man smiles so sweetly, showing off slightly too sharp canines and causing slight creases to his vibrant green eyes. His long, long hair is braided back into a neat plait and bound by an electric green ribbon that smarts the eyes against the black. Around his neck is a heavy black chain made with tungsten and sung with voices of spiders to carry a locket embossed with the stark print of an eye; Elias finds that he cannot use it to see...

_ 'Close the door, Magnus.' _

It is rare for the Beholding to speak so directly into his mind, often choosing to impress knowledge in a less direct and all encompassing way… but this is not a time for deliberation or parsing out information.

Once Elias does so, he sits down at his desk across from the figure and finds a neatly written note before him in sharp, expensive-looking ink. The man gestures to the paper with yet another smile and seems to glow up when the Beholding presses in around them, amusement thick in its ethereal gaze.

Hello, Magnus.

My name is Jonathan Sims. I am from Bournemouth but went to school in Oxford; my resume is under this note.

Unfortunately, I am mostly mute, and unless I have a translator at hand or you know sign language, this will be the easiest way for me to communicate with you.

I am here for a job, preferably one that keeps me away from Gertrude Robinson if you wish for her to stay alive.

Lastly and perhaps most important from your point of view, I am the son of the Beholding.

Elias drops the note and looks up at Jon with irreverent awe and no small amount of shock. He wishes that he didn't Know these things to be true, that he didn't Know that he was not considered trustworthy or careful enough to raise the dread child.

_ 'As much as I am grateful to your work over these many years… You do not have a nurturing bone in your body, Magnus.' _

Startlingly brilliant, cobalt blue eyes flick over to Jon who's begun investigating the room, driven by the bone deep curiosity that often guides his hands, head and heart, and Elias Knows… and Elias Understands.

'What do you ask of me?'

_ 'Just a job… Jonathan will undoubtedly grow bored of his current life without something new. He would be devastated to lose his friends… so in London, he must stay.' _

'His friends?'

_ 'He was raised on Earth, Magnus… Not within the realm of the fears… He has some human sensibilities, and friends are… not something I would begrudge him.' _

'I see. I believe that there's an opening in research… if there's not, I'm sure there will be one soon.'

The air around them is filled by a broken, staticked chuckle, and Elias finds himself staring at the tape recorder that appeared so suddenly on his desk. Shortly afterwards, a slightly more musical, chirpy sort of laugh draws his attention to Jon who's looking at him like he hung the sky and all of its splendor… Elias isn't sure why until he finally hears his new employee's voice.

"...thank you."

* * *

Somehow, Elias finds it in himself to be surprised when Jon produces perfect documentation to prove that he's a real, bonafide person and not the manifestation of an eldritch fear god's curiosity, but he should have seen that coming. In fact, everything is so perfectly detailed that the normal process of signing one's existence away to the institute, potentially literally, takes less than a half hour with part of that time being eaten away by the language barrier.

Still, it doesn't take long before Elias finds himself leading Jon down the hallowed halls of his ren's temple and into the quiet library and the research department bullpen… Or it would be quiet if it wasn't lunchtime on a Friday with a wayward archive storage employee hunkered down with the other members of her friend group. Elias considers foistering Jon off on a more studious coworker, especially if he's already going to have difficulties with the language barrier, but these three are some of the only ones he knows who have more than a passing proficiency in sign language.

Sasha James is the first one to notice him as per usual, and as soon as she does, signing "boss" at the others, they turn towards Elias with attentive if a bit annoyed expressions.

"Anything we can do for ya, Mr. Bossman?" Timothy Stoker asks, com-signing as he does so; Elias is sure that the sign name Tim uses for him is nothing short of rude.

However, before he can say or do anything, Jon claps his hands together twice in quick succession and begins signing at the others in fairly rapid pace. "You know sign??"

All three nod, but it's Martin that continues, choosing not to speak as he does so, "I hard of hearing. You deaf?"

Jon shakes his head. "Mute… mostly."

"They hear." Martin gestures to Sasha and Tim. "Learn for me."

That chirpy, little laugh makes its way out of Jon's throat, startling the other three with its musical cadence. "My friends also learn for me. Good talk without writing."

Seeing that as his opportunity, Elias speaks up again, turning to Martin fully to allow him to read his lips. "Jonathan is going to be starting here Monday. I hope that you and Mr. Stoker will help him get settled in, Mr. Blackwood."

"Of course, Mr. Bouchard," Martin replies, neglecting to sign when there's no point… and Jon… Jon seems enraptured with his voice.

Elias leaves but that doesn't stop him from seeing Jon sign, "voice pretty" at Martin.

_ 'Good choice, Magnus,'  _ Beholding croons.  _ 'Jon already seems quite taken with them…' _

* * *

"Sooo…" Tim drawls, leaning forwards on his desk chair and nearly tipping it over. "What made you come here of all places, Jonny?"

Jon pulls an annoyed face. "Jon. I don't like Jonny…" He thinks of his mother… and of what little he remembers of his father, and it sours the name completely. He barely catches the quick but earnest sorry from the taller man, but Jon quickly shakes his head. "Don't apologize. I didn't tell you before. Now you know… I came for work. I need job… interesting job… Bored Jon is bad Jon." The others snicker, drawing a blinding smile out of him. "My name Jon Sims." With that, he shows them the sign name his aunt had long ago bestowed upon him, the name that all of his friends used regardless of their understanding of its meaning: little eye.

Martin blinks twice but responds quickly in kind. "Martin Blackwood." Then he uses an M in the modified sign for cow. "All cows are good cows," he explains.

"Sasha James." Sasha then signs library before shifting it into an S at the last moment.

"Tim Stoker." With a soft sigh, he starts signing sweet before ending in a T.

"Why?" Jon asks, directing the question at Tim but Martin answers.

"Because he's a sweetheart who brought me lunch every day for a week and started learning bsl so we could eat together when we first started working together."

The little noise Jon makes is somehow identifiable as an 'aww', and when he claps his hands again, Martin has a similar, albeit internal reaction.

_ 'Having fun, Penemue?' _

'Mmhmm. Thank you, Ren…'

_ 'My pleasure, little one.' _


	8. Auspicious Interactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon visits archive storage

Jonathan Penemue Sims has a long standing rule against touching strange objects without his ren's permission. Even if it didn't end in tragedy, there's still a spark of worry in his heart when he comes across something strange and new. It's for this reason that it takes two weeks for Jon to wander down to archive storage to visit Sasha.

It's three hours into the work day, and Jon has finished all he can do on his remaining cases and stolen two of Martin's and three of Tim's. He Knows that the other researchers are curious about why he's able to parse out information so quickly, but that must remain secret for now. He also Knows that three complaints have been made to HR and Elias about his 'poor work ethic', but they're quickly rebuffed by the fact that Jon does more than he's required to and at a proficiency far beyond the complaining parties.

It's gotten to the point that Jon is given many of the tough cases and been given permission to wander about during work time just so he has something to do. HR loves when he pops by because he's always so cheery and willing to run papers for them. Rosie has started keeping his favorite candies and learning sign just so they can talk. The public offices have special Jon only hours where he can come in, even when no one else is allowed, just so he can look around and sometimes help them figure out what new directives Elias has thrown their way. Hell, even two of the janitors have started leaving a sign up to let Jon know when they're on break if he wants to come visit…

And Elias, well, he's come to appreciate the times where Jon comes up to his office to take a nap or read statements… He feels enthralled to listen to the voice that comes tumbling out with a reverberating power and fills his body with the memory of the dread fear that called to him so long ago...

The only departments that Jon has avoided are the archives and storage… until now.

A stern woman with purple, cat eye glasses and meticulously bleached, blonde curls sits at the desk filing her sharp nails when he approaches. She looks up at him over her glasses exposing a narrower pupil than normal that quickly relaxes when she takes in his gentle appearance. "What a lovely dress," she compliments, her eyes tracking the twisted vines that start at the neckline and trail down around his waist and to the bottom of the lavender dress. "You're Jonathan Sims, right?"

Jon nods once sharply.

"Well, my name is Lisa, and Sasha told me you'd probably be stopping by some time this week." Jon glows up at his new friend's thoughtfulness. "She's in the main room. You're going to go in that door, turn right and keep going until you see a grandfather clock made with bones. Then you'll turn left and at the next aisle turn left again. She should be in there."

Jon quickly sighs a thank you, almost missing her welcome as he bounds into the unfamiliar territory.

* * *

There are many, many things in this room… some barely beyond mundane and some shrieking with anguish at being kept within the stronghold of a rival power. Those call to him the most, and he finds himself wanting to investigate them… to at least write down their reference numbers and scrounge up the statements pertaining to them.

Beholding finds it amusing and promises him that he'll ask Elias to fetch them or tell Jon where to find them later… when Gertrude leaves for another mission abroad. For now, it's best to find Sasha; she's playing with something interesting.

When Jon sees Sasha, he lets out an excited noise and claps once to get her attention. She looks up quickly and sets the curious object on the table in the center of the room before standing up and opening her arms for a hug. "I'm so glad you came to see me," she chirps and curls around him even harder. 

He makes another contented noise and squeezes back before pulling away to sign, "I here. Show me around?"

Sasha grins widely. "Absolutely… and our first stop will be to drop this thing off." She lifts up a black and green bangle off of the table with newly bare hands. "You'd be surprised how much cursed jewelry ends up here." Before Jon's eyes, Sasha’s hair curls into loose ringlets and tiny clustered flowers like puff balls.

"Mimosas!" he chirps excitedly before quickly signing an explanation. "Name flower in your hair!"

Sasha doesn't look bothered at all and instead takes a picture to look at them. "They're pretty," she murmurs and then looks at Jon with appraising eyes.

After a moment, Sasha offers him the bracelet, and Jon doesn't even pause. It doesn't hurt when the flowers appear, and Jon is so fascinated that he's fumbling for his phone to take a picture. "Xeranthemums," he whispers in awe at the purple, pink and white daisy-like flowers.

Sasha laughs and takes the bracelet back. "They look good on you… and don't worry, they'll fall out in the shower. Your hair will be a little curly for a few days after though."

With that, she leads him into a back room lined with dozens of cases full of jewelry… and in one… he feels...

_ 'Yes… that one is mine.' _

Jon purposely looks over every item close to them before drawing closer to the one that feels like home. "I see you found the crown," Sasha says and steps close beside him to peer into the peculiar purple-tinged glass box. "It's been here since the institute was founded… Magnus himself brought it here. Supposedly, it gives direct contact to an eldritch being… but no one's ever worn it without blacking out, so who knows."

_ 'It does not give a direct line to me… That's the watched crown… it gives me a direct line to whoever wears it regardless of what stands in my way.' _

'So… if I were to wear it you could find me anywhere… even in the Lonely? Or with Michael?'

_ 'Anywhere.' _

'Can I steal it?'

_ 'You only need to ask, Penemue.' _

'Can I have it?'

_ 'Absolutely… Magnus will come get it for you after the building closes.' _

Jon hums and reaches out to touch the glass right over one of the many eyes hidden with a wreath of flowers and twigs. 'I think I like Magnus… most of the time.'

_ 'Wait until you get older… I'm sure you find something to complain about.' _

Jon turns back to Sasha and quickly signs, "show more?"

She smiles brightly and takes his hand. "I'll show you more."

Jon beams at her and follows, half-listening as he thinks about the crown… and about Magnus. 'Probably…' he admits, 'but I like him mostly right now… Uncle Magnus has been good to me.'

Jon doesn't know why Beholding is suddenly so quiet.

* * *

Gertrude Robinson is a stern woman. Anyone who speaks to her for any amount of time would tell you such. They would also tell you that she doesn't give a damn about people around her, and if you aren't useful or interesting, you're as good as dead.

It isn't a good thing for Gertrude to get curious about you… curious things often end up burned, murdered or as assistants.

However, of all people for Gertrude to see and become curious about, she got curious about Jon…

She's on her way to Archive Storage when she sees a young man come out with his hair up in curls, trailing flowers from a recently recovered Buried artifact. She mistook him for a boy until she Knows that she was wrong.

Jonathan Sims identifies as male and also as nothing… sometimes. Jonathan Sims is a researcher who everyone seems to adore. Jonathan Sims wants a cat, but he settles for going to visit his best friends to play with theirs. Jonathan Sims is the reason why she keeps catching people practicing bsl on their breaks. Jonathan Sims is mostly mute. Jonathan Sims's middle name is Penemue after the Grigori that brought humans paper and ink. Jonathan Sims has survived encounters with the Corruption, the Eye, the Hunt, the Stranger, the Spiral, and the Web… Jonathan Sims attracts the paranormal like buzzards to a fresh kill. Jonathan Sims cares so deeply for so many people… even Magnus.

But Jonathan Sims hates her.

…and Gertrude Robinson is curious about why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xeranthemums are also known as Immortelle/ the Everlasting Flower because of how long their blooms hold color even when dried.


	9. Dine and Dash

There are many days that Beholding wishes it could see the future…

Possibilities are easy to parse out from the patterns of history and the things currently happening, but the definitive future is a black void in its vision.

When things suddenly went sideways in the Washington Institute (a few wayward members of the cult of lightless flame found the place quite intriguing), Magnus and several other prominent figures of the various temples were called by the Beholding to deal with the ensuing chaos that came with the death of the three heads of said institute. Oh, how Beholding was tempted to ask Magnus to stay; things are much too fragile to allow Gertrude near Jonathan at all without anyone to run interference… but there is a delicate balance that it and Magnus must walk to keep the lesser members of its congregation from learning what place they truly hold in its eye. In reality, it scarcely cares about the lesser members, and it is only for the security of a network of power and the increased… food that it ever allowed such places of tribute to be built.

Magnus had to leave... had to stabilize the fragile temple and steal away the most alluring of statements and artifacts. After all, Jonathan loves presents.

However, there are two wrenches in the current system without Magnus there: Gertrude herself who is unlikely to leave until Magnus returns, even if she does have young Gerard Keay to watch her back as long as there are Leitners to burn… and feeding Jonathan.

It was easier when he was young, when his palate wasn't quite as refined, when he could feed on the Beholding’s regurgitated scraps and whatever books Annabelle loaned from all over the world. In his teenaged and college years, the lesser temples would lose statements from time to time, only for them to reappear a week or so later with a black tape that would refuse to play.

Beholding Knows that the lesser temples will be on higher alert, and it doesn't want to risk Annabelle by asking her to steal in such trying times…

No, there is only one option; Jonathan has to go into the archives.

* * *

The Wednesday after Magnus leaves, Jon finds himself with absolutely nothing to do. The well of available research, which often seems never-ending, has suddenly run dry, and it is more than a little obvious that it is Jon who has made it this way.

Perhaps in other workplaces, the team could enjoy a more relaxed day or even a day off, but the Magnus Institute is not one of those places… especially with Beholding and Elias making a few judgment calls.

Jon had been given permission by Elias (and his Ren of course) to go through the non-completed archive stacks and bring up some work for the research staff. He'd, of course, been pressured by the coworkers he doesn't consider to be friends to bring back a very light case load or some really old statements that definitely have dead paper trails; Jon was intending to do such things anyways…

After all, this isn't to punish the research staff; it's to make sure Jon has enough to eat until Elias returns. 

* * *

The gothic man is quite a bit taller than Jon, but that really isn't saying much. But he doesn't seem to use it to lord over the intruder; he looks so relaxed.

_ 'Gerard Keay,'  _ his ren supplies.  _ 'His father, Eric Delano worked in the archives once upon a time. Gerard is Gertrude’s unofficial assistant… He is unlikely to harm you, even if he were to know about your connection to me.' _

Gerard smiles softly and stuffs his hands into the front pockets of his ripped, black skinny jeans. "Whatcha doing here, kid?"

Jon frowns sharply and signs, "not child."

With a laugh, Gerard takes a casual step back and replies, "you must be Jon Sims then… I got the warning email from Bouchard that you'd be down here." With that, he turns heel and beckons Jon to follow him deeper into the archives. "I'm not real good at sign… sorry. But I'll do my best either way…"

Jon follows gleefully, glowing at being immersed in his ren's archive, in the culmination of years of frightened people spilling their hearts out to those who often don't understand or even believe them. Occasionally, he reaches out to snag a file from a messy stack as they pass, all of them very real and very delicious-looking, but still he follows Gerard into the back stacks… and Jon trills.

The strange sound catches Gerard's attention, but when he turns to look at the new hire, he finds Jon holding his hand out to a scruffy-looking, gray and white cat with one blue eye. The cat regards him with suspicion for a few moments before reaching out to sniff at Jon's hand and eliciting a pleased noise.

"So you like cats?" Gerard whispers, trying not to move and potentially startle the stray.

With the hand not occupied with the cat, Jon signs yes, and Gerry Knows that Jon’s going to be bringing a cat home tonight. 

* * *

Gertrude finally opens her door a crack when Gerry returns to the empty archival assistant bullpen. "Did you learn anything?" she asks, somehow making herself sound hopeful and scathing all at once.

Gerry rolls his eyes and sits at the edge of a covered desk. "He seems like an alright guy… He's bored in research, and he gets permission to wander… We found a cat, and Jon's taking it home… Also, he's been touched by one Leitner, but it's really faint. So whatever you're worried about, Jon's not anything that I can help you with."

Gertrude scowls and takes a heaving sigh. "What Leitner?"

"It probably doesn't matter, Gertrude. It's an old brush, like from childhood."

"Gerard."

Gerry rolls his eyes. "Not one I've come across before, but it's Web related… on the spider side."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cat is not beholding related. Spoiler, it's just a cat.


	10. The Coven of Many Eyes

Gertrude tried to be rational about Jonathan Sims; she truly did. She didn't stalk the young man, go digging through his HR file, or harass her sources about him. Though, she did keep her ears open for any and all conversations with or about him.

"...and he's asleep."

"Of course he is," Edward (research) complains. "Not that anyone's going to yell at him."

"Don't be such a dick," Marietta (general library staff) replies. "He deserves a break. He does most of the work anyways."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that… He's probably having someone else do it."

"Edward, what the hell is wrong with you, man?" Glenn (research) snaps. "You've never even given Jon a chance."

"Why should I?" Gertrude hears him set his coffee mug down hard. "He gets whatever he wants from Bouchard… Hell, we didn't even have an opening down here!"

"Jon found a cat in the archives," Rosie remarks and spoons more sugar into her tea. "I bet if he asked nicely Elias would let him bring it to work."

"Jon, you wanna come to the movies this weekend?" Tim shouts across the room to where the smaller man is sitting on the top of a bookcase.

Jon flashes him a quick thumbs up before diving into the book in his hands: it's an autobiography of some famous dead guy. Gertrude Knows the famous dead guy was a serial killer.

A plan to go out for lunch gets her in the same area as both Jon and Elias when the latter arrives back from the Usher Foundation. She hears Jon's happy little chirp and watches as the young man with his arms full of fully researched statements meets the man by the lobby doors.

Elias smiles slightly and quietly asks, "have you had lunch yet, Jonathan?"

When Jon shakes his head no, the institute head calls out to a passing HR representative to take the statements down to the archives if they'd be so kind. She accepts and wishes Jon a good lunch to which he waves back.

"Alright." Elias takes up Jon’s arm with his free one and begins to lead the younger man up the stairs. "You'll have to tell me all about your new cat… [Chiron](https://www.instagram.com/p/CEPkuEABGcG/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link), wasn't it?"

* * *

All these conversations and lack of information is crushing Gertrude under the weight of perhaps the Eye's most sinister attribute. She needs to know just what about Jonathan Sims is so wrong and what makes his presence crawl under her skin. Eventually, she breaks down and tears apart the archives. Driven mad by this torturous curiosity, Gertrude rips through box after box, scans page after page for three days straight, barely eating or sleeping until she finds the box.

Hidden in stacks, she finds the lockbox under a shelf. She's tempted to put it aside for later perusal before she sees a tiny eye engraving… just like the one embossed into Jon's necklace. It's so easy to break into… Whoever hid it likely thought it wouldn't be found.

There are twenty-nine statements, a letter to _'my darling boy',_ a handful of gold coins bearing the eye, a photograph with each person's name on the back, and a journal bearing the name of one Teru Sims within the box, all covered in dust and screaming with esoteric integue.

She starts with the photograph to look for names she recognizes. Of course, the writer of the journal catches her attention as does Mary Ellen Sims; Gertrude knows that they're Jon's mom and dad. Another is Clarina Brithers, a woman who used to work in research. Then Xiao Killian who worked at the Usher Foundation until 1975 when he came to be in archive storage… and disappeared in December 1979. And finally: Angus Stacy, the previous archivist who was supposed to be dead…

All of the statements were made on December 21, 1987 which is… Jonathan Sims's birthday. 

**Statement of Angus Stacy, former Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute and de facto leader of the Coven of Many Eyes regarding his introduction into the coven and the night the Son was born.**

Of the many regrettable things I've done, this will never be one of them.

The coven is nearly as old as the institute. The first leader, Gladiolus Blackmire was an inmate in Millbank during the failed Watcher's Crown. Blackmire was instructed to create a crown of silver and 29 gold coins bearing the chosen symbol of our Beholding. Blackmire then began inducting the first members of the coven.

In 1856, Blackmire was replaced by Catherine Farah.

In 1900, Farah passed it down to her nephew, Constance Castile.

In 1967, I replaced Castile.

Despite the Stranger’s attempt to kill me, the Beholding saved my life and in doing so both stripped me of my position and let Castile die. I never knew how much I'd leaned into the Archivist’s powers until I lost them, but it was for the best. I was merely a placeholder until Beholding finds the one who will thrive under its gaze.

I still worry about Gertrude Robinson having taken over my previous position; she's far too volatile and single-minded about her own beliefs to look beyond. She will never thrive under the Beholding, so it's only a matter of time before someone new will take over.

I only hope that her successor will be more helpful to the Son.

He is unexpected but a blessing nonetheless. 

I didn't know that the Beholding could sing, but how could I know someone so vast and old? The Son will Know just as it will Know him completely.

I've lost many things for my devotion to the Beholding, things I took for granted.

But it's worth it in the end.

**Statement of Clarina Brithers regarding the call to the Coven of Many Eyes.**

I started working at the Magnus Institute because of the paycheck. I didn't believe in the supernatural. I didn't think about the feeling of being watched all of the time until I heard it.

I was in artifact storage looking for a ring that rotted the body it was stuck on, starting with the exact opposite finger. I wanted to include 

There was this voice speaking in a language I'd never heard before. It was coming from the crown.

I ran out, made excuses about being sick and went home.

The watching didn't go away until I made it into my apartment. That's when the whispers started again.

They came from a coin on my table. It had an eye stamped on one side and on the other was my name looking just as old as the rest of it. I'd never seen it before, but the moment I touched it, I Knew.

Angus came to me that night to offer me a place among the coven. I said no, and he left without a fight.

But the coin didn't leave.

I heard it every day, and slowly, I understood it. I Knew what it wanted, and I wanted it back.

When Angus came again, I accepted and felt the Beholding’s love. It was like coming home.

**Statement of Xiao Killian regarding the Watched Crown.**

I didn't know how much stronger the Beholding’s influence is at Magnus verses Usher. It felt distant in America, but in London, it sings. Washington feels like an afterthought.

Archive storage was the closest to home; it watched but not like in the archives or research. I think that's why it took so long for the whispers to start.

I was dared to wear the Watched Crown, and that was when it _noticed_ me. It wanted me and I felt so whole in its gaze.

When Angus came, I Knew that this was my destiny.

I didn't hesitate for an instant.

**Statement of Christopher Blackwood regarding his ancestors involvement in the Coven of Many Eyes.**

I am the great-great-great grandson of Gladiolus Blackmire. When the Watcher's Crown failed, Gladiolus offered up himself and his non-existent family as indentured servants if he would be free from the prison and allowed to live a life of luxury.

He served as both head and the caretaker for many years.

He did not expect to have a son. That son became the caretaker at nineteen, and Catherine Farah later became head.

My great-grandfather changed his surname to Blackwood in hopes that his son would be free from Gladiolus's bargain. It did not work. He as well as my father served the Beholding regardless of their hatred for the eyes.

Every eldest son has been bound until their son is ready to take their place. There is no choice. There is no way out of it. The Blackmire/Blackwood family is built on Gladiolus's debt.

I am glad that our obligation will end with me tonight. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, let alone my son.

**Statement of Mary Ellen Sims regarding her and Teru's newborn Son.**

I am infertile.

But I have a son.

I've wondered if this is why we were called. The Beholding Knew that we'd never have one of our own. I am grateful.

Jonathan Penemue Sims will be loved until the day I die.

**Statement of Teru Sims regarding the end of the Coven of Many Eyes.**

The coven is old. The coven had no real purpose until now. The oldest members remember a time when we were meant to gather energy for a new ritual to bring forth our God, but that hasn't been the case in twenty years.

The Beholding Knew that something was going to change. It didn't Know what until last Christmas. The energy we've amassed instead brought forth a baby boy with curls of black hair, freckles like my wife's, and skin like my own. His eyes are not ours; they are his true parent's.

It is strange to be asked to raise a little one when we'd never be able to have one of our own. No one can know what's been done if we want him to grow up.

The duty of the coven is done now, and the Beholding will not keep us alive until we're replaced. When we die, the Beholding’s coven is gone forever, and its son will, one day, raise a coven of his own.

* * *

The first sign Elias gets that something is wrong is a strange whimpering sound from Jon. He jolts upright, nearly knocking his paperwork to the floor in his haste to make sure that Jon’s alright, but the younger man is still fast asleep on the couch.

Elias breathes out a little sigh of relief and nearly gets back to his work before the Beholding is pressing down on his mind. He can feel the eldritch being's panic and anger flood in like the ocean against Andromeda's rock. When it pulls back, Elias finds himself gasping for air and trembling uncontrollably.

But that doesn't stop him from hearing and Understanding what has his god so spooked.

_'She Knows Magnus…'_


	11. A Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty short, but ya know how it is. Next chapter will be out pretty soon though.

'How?' Elias asks, but he doesn't expect a detailed or even straightforward answer. He's both wrong and right.

He sees Angus Stacy placing a lockbox under a shelf, far from Gertrude’s normal hunting area. He sees Beholding save Angus's life. He sees the coven through the years, faces that he had seen and had suddenly disappeared. He sees Gladiolus survive the failed Watcher's Crown. He sees Mary Ellen and Taru Sims find the gold coins. He sees Christopher Blackwood hold his son in his arms and promise the boy that the end is near. He sees the night Jon was born.

And he Knows what the statements were for.

'What do you want me to do?'

Jon nuzzles deeper into the soft blankets as the watcher's gaze presses downwards again, covering its son with a weighted blanket of Knowing. That same weight presses against Elias’s mind in a strengthening manner…

_ 'It's time… Gertrude Robinson must die.' _

* * *

Gertrude immediately descends into the tunnels beneath the institute with a small stack of tapes, a recorder, a torch and a knife. She slinks as far in as she can, not wanting them to be easily found by a random curious passerby.

She Knows that she needs to get this information down in hopes that her successor will be able to use it if the Beholding condemns her; she Knows it will. She Knows that it's aware of the thoughts about its son… She's going to kill that  _ thing. _

She records three tapes: one on Jonathan, one on Elias/Magnus, and the last on the dread horrors in general. She spills all that she Knows into them and all that she suspects. Then she labels them quickly and lays them in her cardigan.

At last, Gertrude Robinson comes to a decision; she's going to tell Elias about Jonathan, and if he's not willing to do anything, she'll kill Jon herself.

* * *

Elias comes down into the archives, a gun hidden in his coat. Gerry had left earlier, joining Jon, Martin, Tim and Sasha for dinner on the company card; Elias felt no qualms about giving Jon a card to use without explanation, unlike the department heads. He knows that the card might be used for dumb things, but stupid, Jonathan is not… Elias isn't worried.

He Knows that Gertrude went into the tunnels, and he also Knows that she'll come back out soon. She has a plan; she always has a plan… but it's hard to do those things when she's trapped in the tunnels.

So he sits in her office chair and makes a mental note of all the things that will have to be updated and fixed once she's gone. It wouldn't do to give Jonathan such a decrepit space to work in.

* * *

Gertrude throws open the hatch and drags herself up the steps with ; she can feel the Beholding dragging its gifts out of her body with relish. She feels sick…

Her stumbling feet carry her into the archival bullpen, and with a start, she realizes that it's late… too late to kill Jon at work.

With the last of her conscious Knowing, she Knows that Elias is in her office… and she Knows this is her only chance.

She pushes the door open wide, and the low glow of the bullpen's lamps cast light onto the and the vivid blue gaze of Elias Bouchard/Jonah Magnus.

"Magnus," Gertrude croaks, and she can scarcely remember a time when she sounded so broken. "Jonathan Sims… needs to die."

Elias laughs humorlessly and stands up, walking around the desk to watch her struggle to breathe. "Why would I kill him? Jonathan’s such a sweet man… He'd never hurt a fly."

Suddenly, she coughs up thick, old blood and drops to her knees. She feels old… withered and decayed. She feels small and brittle and useless. She's threaded tightly with being Known and undone...

"Magnus… you must…"

When she finally looks up, she finds Elias pointing a gun at her head. He's grinning maniacally; there's no sympathy to be had, no empathy for the damned. She can feel the Beholding watching, staring down at them with a desire to just remember this night. The air quivers with its anticipation, and Gertrude closes her eyes.

"It's nothing personal, Gertrude… but you're a terrible person and an even  _ worse _ archivist."


	12. Nepotism? Perhaps. Warranted? Definitely.

Elias waits one week before sending out the email that Gertrude Robinson has been declared missing following her official firing from the institute. The email doesn't state why, but the old, creepy woman was not well loved amongst staff… and HR quietly lets it be known that the reason she had no official assistants is because they believed that she was sending them into danger to try and kill them. That certainly put many minds at ease, knowing that the horrid woman wouldn't be allowed back into the institute if she ever returned.

However, with the same bated breath, many rejoice at the knowledge that her replacement has already been decided… It's Jon, and his personal friends Sasha, Tim and Martin are to be his assistants… and the nice young man who sometimes helped Gertrude out, Gerry has agreed to help get the new team settled and to offer his services if needed.

That announcement comes on a Friday with the new team to start on Monday at 9:00.

* * *

There's [a room in the archives](https://imgur.com/gallery/QZ7P7CL), one originally built for the archivist to stay in as one of the perks of the job. However, only one, the poor woman who dedicated her short life to the preservation took up that offer. It still bore marks of her time, old clothes, jewelry and books that Elias decides not to throw out when he pushes for a quick remodel of the room. 

In fact, it's completely finished when Jon learns that he's to be the new Archivist.

So that weekend, Jon packs up everything he owns and asks Nikki if she'll help him move; the hearse can quite comfortably fit themselves and everything he needs to bring. She agrees quite happily and even offers to wrangle more help and bring coffee; he wouldn't dare deny that offer.

Early Monday morning, Nikki and a handful of dancers help him bring his things down the stairs into the archive proper before bidding him ado, Jon reassuring her that he can finish from there.

So by the time 9:00 rolls around and his poor tired assistants come rolling in, Jon's about halfway finished moving into his new room… that none of them knew existed.

"Uh… Jon?" At the inquisitive noise, Tim continues on and comes to sit on the desk between Martin and Sasha’s proclaimed work stations. "Why does it look like your flat threw up in here?"

Jon finally draws himself out of the very important task of deciding what pictures will go in his office and which ones need to be taken to his room. He sees his friends, including Gerry looking at him with concern and smiles. "Going live here," he signs.

"What do you mean?" Gerry asks, roughly com-signing as he does so. "Did something happen?"

Jon shakes his head and looks inquisitive for a moment before deciding. "Martin, take please." He passes the ginger the remaining photo box for his room. "Sasha, take that." He points to the guitar case leaning on her desk. "Tim, take those." He points to a box of books. "Gerry, Chiron box please." Once they all grab what he asked them to, he signs, "follow," and grabs his box of eye decorations before leading them into the stacks.

There in the far corner of the dead files (the oldest of the old) is an eternally shut black door that now stands wide open. He sets his decorations on the unmade, new mattress and beckons the others inside.

"I didn't know this place existed," Gerry remarks and sets his box on the bed which prompts the others to do the same.

"Most don't," Jon replies. "Only Archivist may use it. In contract… not used since first Archivist. Mine now."

Jon dumps out the contents of a smaller box on the armoire, a box filled with tapes and a few recorders. Without much thought, he finds the empty recorder and wills an empty tape inside of it while his friends inspect his room.

After a few moments, Martin asks, "why did you move here? I thought you liked your flat."

Jon looks over at Martin and flicks on the recorder. With a soft voice, he says, **"I liked it, but it was never going to be permanent… and Uncle Elias would prefer if I had a safe place to stay."** If any of them noticed the reverberating difference in his voice, they were far more focused on 'Uncle Elias' to mention it.

Sasha quietly whispers, "is he seriously your uncle?"

 **"Yes and no."** Jon begins pulling out a photo of himself and Annabelle at an amusement park when he was little. **"Biologically, not at all… It's a family of choice… through my ren."**

Gerry's eyebrows are way in his hairline when he says, "well shit… and here I thought my family was weird."

* * *

Jon comes out of his room an hour after he kicks his friends out to finish unpacking. He's streaked with cobwebs, both mundane and not, and there’s more than a smattering of glitter in his hair and on his skin. For once, Jon is wearing something that doesn't even begin to constitute professional attire: a black tank top with the Mechanisms symbol on the back, a pair of high-cut, black shorts that just barely miss qualifying as short-shorts, knee high black and green striped socks, black and green high-top converse, and a puffy green scrunchie to pull his hair up into a very messy bun.

Tim whistles at him as he walks through the bullpen to his office. He blows a kiss at the flirt before disappearing into the darkened room and reappearing with a grumpy grey and white cat.

With his hands full of cat, it's difficult to sign, and Jon's glad he thought ahead. It's easy to cradle Chiron in one arm; he's delightfully clingy to his human; and type out in the mostly unused, text-to-speech program on his phone: 'going upstairs. Need to speak to Uncle Elias and grab files from research. Do you need me to grab anything?'

Three out of the four shake their heads with Martin completely oblivious to what's going on. Jon realizes that Martin doesn't have his hearing aids in; he Knows that the ginger has a migraine and the aids sometimes make it worse. So he walks over quietly and manages to get his attention with a tap on his hand.

Martin looks up through bleary eyes as Jon signs the best he can with Chiron. "I go upstairs. You sleep in my room or office. Medication in top drawer in office."

Martin blinks slowly and nods. "Thanks," he mouths and slowly stands to lumber into the office. Jon waits until he Knows that Martin has taken something and decides to lay down in the office before he starts upstairs on a mission.

Jon passes by Edward from research on his way to his previous desk. He can hear the man mutter something derogatory about Jon's appearance, but Jon couldn't give less of a damn; he's far more preoccupied with picking up the case files left behind on Friday.

"Hey, stranger!" Marietta calls, leaning over the balcony of the second floor. "What're you doing in your old haunt?"

Jon grins so wide that his mouth hurts. "Forgot files. Come grab."

"Aww, and here I thought you missed me."

A little chirpy laugh has Chiron squirming in Jon's arms until he finally puts the cat down. "Always!"

* * *

Edward Jones of research is no stranger to disdainful remarks from his coworkers, especially since Jonathan Sims came around. However, Jon's never been one to call him out for his assholish behavior.

He doesn't know why he chose to stay late. He doesn't know why he stayed until 20:00. He doesn't know why he expected to be alone.

He certainly didn't expect Jon to be waiting for him in the lobby.

 **"You're here late."** He almost doesn't recognize the younger man’s voice, but there's no mistaking it when he sees Jon standing in front of the hallway to the archive. **"Why?"**

"Working," Edward snaps back. "Someone has to… I don't have people giving me whatever I want."

**"You think I didn't work to get my position?"**

"I know you didn't."

Jon snorts and takes a step closer to Edward, slipping from the shadows and casting light upon his face. In the dim light… with the darkness behind him, he looks wrong… ethereal… a monster. **"You don't know anything about me, Edward Kennedy from Yorkshire. You have three siblings who don't call you or would care if you died. Your parents thought about drowning you when you went to Bournemouth for a summer. You saw a little boy while you were there sitting all by himself. You thought it was cool that he was allowed to be out without parents even though he was younger…**

**That little boy was me, Edward, and I was alone because my mama and papa were dead. I was alone because my grandmother wasn't sure what to do with me but hadn't yet decided to try and kill me. I was always but never alone…"**

Edward tries to speak, but nothing comes out. It's all dry death rattles and half-forgotten memories.

 **"You're right that I didn’t have to work for my position… but not for the reasons you think."** Jon’s eyes glow with unholy green light. **"I really hate people like you… and so does my Ren…"**

"...your Ren?"

**"Parent, Edward. My biological parent… who you and everyone else in this building work for."**

"Bouchard?"

Jon laughs, but it isn't the happy chirping/warbly sound that Edward had come to know and despise. It's broken, distorted like magnetic tape being ripped from a cassette. **"No… the Beholding is my Ren… and it has some words for you."**

Edward forgets how to breathe.


	13. Glitter Pens and Pastel Sticky Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's first official day as head archivist, and he's rolling out an extensive plan to get the archives in shape!
> 
> Also Tim met Gunpowder and Nastya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've come to the realization that I like Forsaken more than Lonely. Is it more emo? Yes. Am I a dramatic person who likes dramatic names? Also yes. And Forsaken is a cooler sounding name tbh.

Jon's already in the archives when Gerry shows up with a chai latte, a double chocolate chip frappuccino with almond milk, a cold brew with vanilla crème, a pumpkin spice abomination with chocolate sprinkles and syrup, and a mint mocha with an extra espresso shot. He drops them off at their respective desks before passing the mocha to Jon who's blinking quizzically at him.

"How you know?" he asks only to get the answer of 'Martin'. Jon ducks his head, blushing slightly as he signs, "thank you."

"No problem."

A few moments later a bedraggled Tim comes stumbling through the door with a partially unbuttoned shirt and a pair of faded skinny jeans. "Fuck my life," he groans before sitting down and sucking at his frap as if it holds the secrets to happiness.

"What did you do?" Gerry asks.

Tim groans but sets down his drink, leaning backwards. "Sasha convinced me to ask this girl out last night. Super pretty in a serious sort of way, long brown hair with blueish green at the ends, and dark gray eyes. She was wearing ratty Oxford sweatshirt and skinny jeans…

"Anyways, I ask her for her number, and she starts talking cyclically. Somehow, we got on the topic of emotional support robots, and she invites me to her apartment. Which is in a warehouse by the way. We get to her place, and there's a guy passed out on her couch. He's not her roommate or her boyfriend. Then she offers me a drink from a literal pitcher of vodka… The next thing I know, I'm waking up next to the passed out guy in clothes that aren't mine? Because I ripped a hole in my pants while playing 'space jenga'..." Tim thuds his head against the desk. "I really like his pants."

"Are you…" Gerry cocks his head. "Are you wearing his pants?"

"Yes…"

Throughout the story ,Jon’s eyes got wider… and then he secretly pulled out his phone. He feels somewhat grateful that Nastya is online. 'I swear to god,' he rapidly types, 'if do not stop fucking with people I know, I will not let you fuck with my hair.'

The only response he gets is a quick 'lol'.

* * *

By the time Martin and Sasha arrive, Jon's calmed down enough to bring his horrifying system out for explanation and display. Most of the whiteboard is covered in acronyms for 'Jon's final use only' and a list of important labels, colors and acceptable inks for everyone's use. The remaining space is a realistic eyeball with a bowtie.

With an enthusiastic bounce, Jon passes out laminated cheat sheets he'd made the night prior; they're light purple with little artistic depictions in the bottom left corner. Sasha’s is a royal bookworm on a stack of files. Tim's is a kayaking leaf that's just off enough to be comfortably discredited as marijuana. Martin’s is a tiny cow in a teacup. Gerry's is a black kitten and a bonfire made of books.

"Made one for Uncle Elias too," Jon explains and sets down a final copy on the planter next to his office door; that one has a very similar eye to the whiteboard's… only there's two with the larger wearing a tie instead of a bow.

"Monday: start new box! Take statement. Try to record digitally.

If no record, pink sticky note. Then statement maker name, date and first impression. Your initials. Put in my box. 

If record, blue sticky note. Then date and initials. Put in discredit box.

I look my box every day. 

Tuesday: go through statements in your boxes. May need research. No going places alone!

Green sticky note with initials. Then return to my box. When I'm done, will put away.

Wednesday: if nothing in your boxes, get new box.

Thursday: Same as Tuesday.

Fridays: all look discredited pile. Still bad then into shredder."

At this directive, Gerry's stone-faced impassiveness vanishes. "You're going to shred statements?"

Jon nods once. "Only untrue ones… you here long enough know… real statements don't record digitally." He gestures to the overflowing mess of statements. "No need keep useless… fake stories. Too many. Need cleaned."

"Fair enough," Gerry replies and settles down to watch the happy man with curiosity.

After a minute, Tim decides to speak up. "What's your acronyms mean?"

Jon blinks at him before smiling. "Group." He points to the topmost: BH. "Beholding." BR– "Buried". C– "Corruption." DA– "Dark." DE– "Desolation." E– "End." FL- "Flesh." FO– "Forsaken". H– "Hunt." SL– "Slaughter." SP– "Spiral." ST– "Stranger." V– "Vast." W– "Web."

"Complicated, yes. Work best for me…"

* * *

Jon's halfway done chucking discredited garbage into the pile of gross when his phone vibrates to warn him of Georgie's awakened from her daily coma.  _ 'Hey, u busy tonite?' _

Pushing down the urge to just Know what she wants, Jon fires back,  _ 'not really why?' _

_ 'sleepover?? i want u to meet melanie' _

Jon chirps happily.  _ 'melanie the mysterious girlfriend??' _

_ 'yeah!' _

_ 'b there at 6?' _

_ 'sounds good. bring kitty' _

_ 'will do!' _

Jon Knows that it's 14:30. If he wants to make it to Georgie's by 18:00, then he needs to leave by 16:30 so he can stop by the liquor store close to the institute; they allow pets as long as they're in carriers or on leashes. He also wants to stop at the bakery four blocks from her flat to grab something non-boozy to welcome Melanie into their lives…

He Knows it's odd how much Georgie and him hang out since they're not roommates anymore, but he'd be devastated if he lost her, Michael, or any of the Mechs.

Once Jon shuffles through the last of that discredited pile, he tosses the lid back on the box and shoves it across the floor and into the other discredited box. He hears a knock against his doorframe, and he looks up to find Martin at the door with a sturdy, purple mug bearing his name in swoopy gold letters.

“I made tea,” Martin says but waits for Jon to wave him inside before setting it down on the desk.

“Thank you,” Jon signs and gestures for Martin to sit. “You my friend, yes?”

Martin gives him a concerned and confused look. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies. “Happy…”

* * *

When Jon disappears into his room, only Martin seems to notice, stilling him from his continued sifting of a truly horrendous box of files; if it weren’t for the digital waveforms, it would be damn near impossible to tell if some of these are actually recording. So he’s also the only one that notices when Jon comes back out a few moments later.

**“Will one of you lock up the archives when you leave?”** Jon asks, a bright, hopeful gleam in his eyes.

The suddenness of him speaking rips the other three from their tasks, surprising them equally when they find him wearing a backpack and carrying a leash for Chiron. “Where ya’ headin off to?” Tim asks, forgetting to sign while his hands are deep in a dusty box.

**“Sleepover… with one of my best friends. Going to meet her girlfriend finally.”**

“Ah!” Sasha gasps with the overdramatic air of fake hurt. “And you never told us about this friend?”

Giggling, Jon quickly fishes out his phone and flips to a selfie taken in Nastya’s apartment with the whole group including Michael and Nikki. As he does so, the three remaining assistants come to crowd around Sasha’s desk.  **“That’s Georgie,”** he explains, pointing to the blue-haired woman with a face of blunted angles.  **“Roommate during college.”**

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tim hisses, quickly drawing Jon’s attention away from his phone. “You know the girl I went home with last night?? And the guy who’s pants I borrowed?”

**“Yes. Went to college together.”** Jon points to them in turn.  **“Nastya. Tim… but we call him Gunpowder.”** He flips through a few more to find a photo of him, Gunpowder and Nastya curled up in a faded red armchair; Georgie had taken the picture a few weeks earlier.  **“Like my brother and sister…”**

He expects someone to say something, but there’s nothing… only silence, the quiet, sweet kind that melts his heart a bit. They’re surprised but not in a bad way; he’s glad.

After a moment more, he slips his phone back into his pants and gives them soft smiles.  **“See you tomorrow?”** At the affirmations, Jon starts heading out. He doesn’t miss the worried edge to Gerry’s gaze, but until he asks, Jon won’t give all of his secrets away.


	14. Hollows in the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melanie likes Jon, Martin has news, and Jon talks to cops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for soft platonic snuggling... It honestly gives me life.

Waking up in someone else's bed is a very strange feeling for Jon.

Granted that bed belongs to Georgie and it isn’t the first time that they’ve snuggled up together, but it is the first time that he’s somehow been cocooned by two women on this bed. At first, he feels somewhat panicked, not being able to see the woman behind him, but then he Knows that it’s Melanie. Sometime during the night, the bombastic woman threw her arm over him and snuggled up close, forcing Jon even closer to Georgie… not that he particularly minds snuggling.

But he woke up for a very important reason; his phone went off across the room, and he Knows that the text is from a rather frantic Martin.

**“Need up,”** he suddenly says, rousing both women almost immediately.

“What’s it? Jon??” Georgie blearily asks. “‘S goin on?”

**“Phone went off… Also, I’m late for work.”**

* * *

The tube is never the most pleasant place, even if Jon can feel the comforting press of the Buried and the continued gaze of his Ren. He doesn't particularly mind when it's emptier and quiet so he can sit or stand alone. However, it is not particularly empty today, but he'd rather not spend an hour walking to the institute when the ride is twenty minutes… especially considering the current situation.

_ 'You spent the night at Georgie’s, right?'  _ the text had asked. Jon didn't need to know what the reply would be when he confirmed that fact.  _ 'An intern found Edward's body hanging in the entrance to the archives. We told them that you left hours before us, but the police still want to talk to you.' _

Jon's expression of stormy impassiveness does an excellent job of keeping all but one figure away from him; it's a young changeling with bright blue eyes and thick curls of black hair. "Good morning," he signs absent-mindedly but makes no move to look at the being any more than he already has.

"Is something the matter, little ceaseless watcher?"

Slowly, Jon sighs and looks at the creature, taking in every detail of its chosen visage and committing it to memory, but he refuses to Know this being if it's only being mildly annoying. "Something happened. Must return home."

It blinks rapidly before grinning far too wide. "Oh dear… it must be something bad if you're so moody."

"Not bad. Annoying." He narrows his eyes, allowing some of the ethereal glow to seep in. "Same as you."

The changeling balks but takes two steps away and doesn't speak again.

* * *

The institute lobby is far busier than Jon is used to, but he tries not to let it bother him. Chiron, on the other hand, is a grumpy ball of fur in his arms, not used to so many people and so many voices. He nearly leaps out of his owner's grasp to dart towards the Archives, towards the office or the bedroom or Martin who's in the breakroom with Tim Gerry, and Sasha and a detective that Jon’s never met and isn't sure of...

"Jonathan," Magnus calls, stilling the madness as many eyes turn towards him. The masses split like a parted sea, employees and cops alike watching the dour man approach Jon with bated breath.

Jon isn't so unnerved by Magnus coming; in fact, he hopes that the man will tell him what's happened in his absence. He needs to look like he's getting the details now, not like he already Knew what happened to Edward and Understood why… He didn't expect to be pulled into a hug, but when he stretches out his awareness, he Knows –  _ Magnus was so worried when he awoke to a frantic phone call from security. They didn't tell him who the body was at first. He worried for Jon, and it wasn't until the Beholding reached out and Showed him where Jon was, fast asleep and so very safe, that he could finally breathe. _

When they break apart, Jon smiles softly and signs, "I okay."

With a barely perceptible sigh of relief, Magnus straightens up and asks, "did you have a good visit with your friend?" Jon nods once quickly and pulls out his phone to show Magnus the selfies he'd taken with Melanie, Georgie, the Admiral, and Chiron. "So I take it you approve of your friend's new girlfriend?" Another nod. "Good." A soft hand card through his hair, eliciting a gleeful little trill. "I'm glad you had fun."

A rough throat clearing has the two stepping apart, and Jon turns to look at the detective standing just a few feet from them. He's fairly old and so very done with this  _ 'creepy madhouse and creepy people with creepy eyes' _ . Jon Knows that he finds both his and Magnus's eyes to be strange… he is far more perceptive than the young man in the archives.

Jon tilts his head in question and gestures for the man to speak. Still, it takes a moment more for him to even dare to do so.

"You are Jonathan Sims, yes?" Jon nods. "Would you mind accompanying me down the stairs? My partner is waiting in the breakroom for us." Again, Jon nods, but he doesn't miss the flash or irritation the old cop gives off at his nonverbal responses.

The stairs to the archives are cleaner than they ever have been before, but Jon's torn between gratefulness for the deep clean or annoyed at the removal of the singing spiderwebs that used to hang up so high. He Knows the spiders are still there and just waiting to spin their beautiful webs again, and that calms the bitter rot in his heart.

The archives themselves look about as normal, a few bootprints and a few cleaner spots, but the doors had been locked when Edward hung himself. They were locked by keys that are only given to the head archivist, second in command assistant (Gerry) and the institute head. Only three people could have opened those doors for Edward, and none of them were there when he died.

Once they enter the breakroom, Jon promptly lets go of Chiron who bolts for his food bowl and the moist tin that had been dumped inside. He watches for a moment more then takes his seat across from the two detectives, barely sparing a glance at his coworkers.

"Either sign?" he asks, and to his pleasure, the younger one does, forcing him to take point.

"Where were you last night between midnight and 5am?" 

"Friend's house. Her name Georgina Barker. Kitty playdate and sleepover. Have photos if want see."

When the detective nods, Jon pulls up the photos and passes his phone over, knowing that they're checking the timestamp. Once getting to the end of images and seeing a couple of spiders, it's quickly passed back.

"And why were you late today?"

Jon blushes hotly. "I overslept. Forgot turn on alarm before movie. Fell asleep during. Georgie carried me to bed." He throws a quick, annoyed glance at Tim and Gerry who are softly awwing at him.

The older detective looks impassive, but deep down, he thinks this is a waste of time. The younger one, however, smiles. "It happens," he reassures, soothing some of the hot embarrassment in Jon face. "I just have one question left… What did you think about Edward Kennedy?"

"As coworker, serviceable. Did his job. As person, mean… always say rude things… no one like him."

The look on the younger man's face tells Jon that it's the same response they'd gotten all morning, even without Knowing what others had said.

"I see… well then, thank you for your time, and we'll get out of your hair."

Jon waves at the younger one before brokenly chirping, "goodbye, Detective Clarkson!"

It's not until the'yre back at the precinct that afternoon that Clarkson realizes he never told Jon his name.


	15. Simon and Peter

Jon receives an email from Elias at a quarter to ten, asking him to come upstairs at lunch to have a discussion with Simon Fairchild and Peter Lukas. Not wanting to reveal his hand to those two just yet, Jon decides that he needs to have a translator close at hand, but Sasha and Tim are investigating the scene of a burnt out bakery two hours away and Gerry called out sick.

He slips out of his office and into the archival bullpen to find Martin writing up his assessment of a statement on a pastor who found his congregation had no faces. The ginger looks rather deep in thought, but not so much that he doesn't notice when Jon comes to stand at his desk with a nervous sort of energy.

"What wrong?" Martin signs and fumbles around to turn on his hearing aids.

"Meeting. With people who don't know sign."

Martin blinks and looks around the bullpen before remembering. "You sure?" he asks, looking dreadfully embarrassed.

"Very."

* * *

Magnus finds himself sitting rather primly in one of the smaller meeting rooms upstairs, trying his best not to call off the entire things, but he'd already asked Jon to come. He Knows that the little eldritch would assume that it was his fault, even if he Knew better.

Still, the disgusting things that Simon is saying about the benefits of the Vast over the Beholding and the Forsaken makes him want to just call it quits, damned with the consequences.

There's a prim knock at the door, but Jon really doesn't wait to be called in. Instead, he waves at Magnus and reaches out mind to mind with the man.  _ 'Is this okay, Uncle Magnus?' _

Magnus barely blinks at that nickname before he smiles slightly and nods. "Simon, Peter, this is the Head Archivist, Jonathan Sims, and one of his assistants, Martin Blackwood. Am I correct in assuming that Martin will be translating for you today?"

Jon nods and turns towards the other two men with a small dip of his head before coming to sit at the end of the table so Martin can see him sign unimpeded beside him.

"Jon apologizes for being so late," Martin translates. "The other assistants are currently unavailable, and he was unsure if either of you had in depth understanding of bsl."

After a moment, Peter asks, "are you deaf, Jon?" and looks almosr surprised when Martin makes no move to sign to the other.

"No. He's selectively mute." Martin turns his head to them and admits. "However, I am hard of hearing, so for future reference, I would appreciate if you don't ask me questions when I can't see."

Simon smiles in a strangely sweet way and nods. "How are you settling into your role, Jonathan?"

"The archives are a mess, but the sorting is going well… However, that isn't what your after, is it?"

Simon looks surprised, but Peter is outwardly unphased; he'd already heard a bit about the new Archivist from Magnus. He came into this meeting knowing that Jon wouldn't be what they'd expected. He knew that Jon wouldn't be so easy to sway into false security.

He didn't Know that the young man would be so… Eye.

"No, it isn't," Simon admits. "Gertrude was a pain in the ass for me and Peter in the past, but she mostly left our families alone… and so we willingly donated to this institution."

"You wanted to see if I was another Robinson."

It wasn't a question, but Peter responds anyway. "Yes. But I don't think we have to worry about that. Do you, Simon?"

"Not at all."

Jon's lips quirk up into a ghost of a smile. "Good. Now is there anything else I can do for you?" When he receives no inclination of needing him to stay, he signs to Martin and they take their leave from the newly dubbed pervert-sky and lonely-sea.

_ 'See you later, Uncle Magnus!' _

With that the door closes leaving, Magnus alone with two confused and worried avatars.


	16. Auntie Anna

There's a delightful little humming from the spider spinning webs in a drawer mostly dedicated to bones and shiny things. Jon peaks in to see the tiny body of a money spider dancing along a human metacarpal bone to create a nest between it, a blackwing skull, and a broken string of pearls. It hums a tune of safety and belonging as if to bewitch Jon into letting it stay in this place dripping with love.

Jon has no intention in dragging it out of his desk treasures. The bones are from Nikki, Marius and the nice man who drips with the Flesh; Jon Knows that his name is Jared Hopworth, but they don't see one another enough to be close. The shiny things come most often from Michael who's crow-like tendencies cause him to hoard anything and everything that interests him. Jon Knows that there's a place in the Hallways that contains the bulk of his treasures, like a very shiny rock from a beach in Bournemouth, a broken piece of stained glass from a burned husk of a church, and hundreds of pictures, oft stolen right after developing; Michael's favorite treasures are stolen with/from his friends.

Other shiny things come from his coworkers who've noticed him collecting broken things or scrapping them for interesting parts. The moth in his hair came from an abandoned building that Gerry and Tim investigated; it's silver wings are irreparably tarnished, and many of the little fake gems have fallen out… but Jon loves it still.

He shuts the drawer slightly to ensure that the little mother inside will be undisturbed but able to leave if she so desires, and the spider sings gratitude into her silk.

There's only one file is his box, one taken in 1996 by a woman so very petrified of spiders but enthralled by an amateur ballet performance of Le Festin de l'araignée (The Spider's Feast). She'd heard of the ballerina, Siao Neriene who breathed life into the titular creature, a pale, dainty woman with tight ringlets of night-black hair and dark eyes that drew her captives and audience in.

**"...I had heard that the source material was changed. In the original ballet, the spider is killed by a praying mantis just before she can feast, but in this version, she kills him and uses his body to nourish her young since the feast is ruined.**

**There was a woman beside me. She was very small with dark skin and bleach blonde hair. It was done up in a similar style to the spider ballerina's. Her eyes were silver, and whenever I turned to look at her, I could find myself being pulled deeper and deeper in. I'm not attracted to women, but I thought about asking her on a date more than once.**

**She never looked my way after the curtains opened, her eyes were only for the ballerina. She was so enthralled that I started to watch the performance closer, trying to see what she saw. I didn't understand; there was nothing out of the ordinary until I turned my head just the right way and looked at the top of the stage.**

**It seemed like there were strings, tiny gossamer strands like spider silk that looped around the hands, legs and arms of every performer… except for Siao.**

**Once the feast was set to commence, Siao turned her head to look at me, and that's when I noticed that the woman beside me was finally looking at me too. She was smiling, and she held out her hand to me, but I could see that it was covered in webs.**

**The mantis, a different man than had been on stage the day before suddenly collapsed on stage, the strings on him were cut and floating in the air. Young ballerinas danced out of the side curtains to feast on the mantis's corpse… but I couldn't pay attention to the children on stage… There were tiny spiders crawling everywhere and on everyone, but no one seemed to notice.**

**The woman beside me started humming, and I could hear it all around me like the spiders themselves were singing. I couldn't take it… I just bolted.**

**The next morning, I thought that it was just a bad dream or a breakdown or… something. But when I left my hotel room, there was a poster for the performance on the floor. It was signed by Siao Neriene and invited me to come back to see how the feast really ends.**

**I didn't go. I left Paris that night, but I swear I can hear singing in spiderwebs whenever I go outside. Statement Ends."**

Jon lets out a happy little trill; without Knowing, he's sure of who the blonde woman was. As the knowledge that he's correct sinks in, Jon slams his hand on his desk repeatedly, a bright, wide smile stretching across his face. 'Auntie Anna! Auntie Anna!' he repeats and hopes that his Ren is paying attention… but his Ren is always paying attention.

"Jon?" Sasha peaks around the door suddenly, her eyes wide with curiosity and a twinge of worry. Jon shakes the story and holds it out to her. "What?"

Another tape recorder, this one appearing in his jumper pocket clicks on, allowing the chaotic happiness to spill out. **"My Auntie Anna was at the play in this statement. She told me about the lady she sat next to and how upset Miss Siao was that she didn't come back for another viewing."**

After a beat, the door opens wider to reveal the male assistants who bear similar worried looks, but Gerry's is deeper. Not only was he the one to put this statement in the box, but the knowledge of Jon's brush with the web lies heavy in his thoughts. "Jon, you do know that Siao Neriene isn't human, right?"

**"Yes,"** he replies honestly, not really understanding where this is going.  **"Auntie Anna briefly dated her when I was ten… But they're better friends than partners. Spiders can be very solitary creatures… Although that doesn't really explain them…"**

"Jon," Gerry cautiously starts, "what's your aunt's name?"

**"Annabelle Cain."**

"For fuck's sake." Gerry walks back out into the bullpit with his hand dragging across his face.

Sasha looks back and forth between Gerry and Jon before realization dawns on her. "Your aunt is a spider person?"

Jon blinks at her.  **"Yes, but also no… it's complicated. But it's also simple… My Auntie Anna is not a spider like Miss Siao or Mr. Spider, but she is a being of the Web. She's a very good Auntie, and she's why I like spiders!"**

Jon's not really surprised that the conversation ends there.


	17. Uncle Magnus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

Light, tapping footsteps descend into the archives, announcing the arrival of Jonah Magnus. In one hand is a sack, lunch for both him and Jon from the latter’s favorite Indian restaurant. In the other is a manila envelope containing missives from the Usher Foundation, missives that will require Magnus to talk with Jon as soon as possible. So when he enters into the archival bullpen to find Jon in the middle of shredding unnecessary statements, all it takes is a soft explanation “Usher and lunch” to get the young eldritch to bounce up from his spot by the shredder. Jon accepts the envelope with a quiet, little hum of appreciation before he leads Magnus into the breakroom.

Despite the nagging curiosity, the assistants carry on with their work for about fifteen minutes before the allure of watching Magnus and Jon eat together becomes too much for them to handle. As one, the four of them creep up to the breakroom and peak around the corner quickly, all amused and a bit awed by the site of Magnus making Jon tea while the younger man flips through the envelope with an increasingly annoyed expression.

“...so, what do you think?” Magnus inquires, trying his hardest to keep his voice and expression level; he refuses to consciously influence Jon’s opinions on the other institutes and what help they should offer.

**“Are they seriously asking for our opinion on who should be the last head?”**

“It seems that way.”

Jon shakes his head but smiles when he accepts the cup of tea.  **“I swear Usher is the most useless institute on the planet. It should be easy to pick a new head, even with the last shitshow. You were there to help them pick two of the three, so why is it so difficult for them to just pick a fucking researcher to take the position? They don’t even have a head archivist, so I don’t understand why they’re having so many problems!”**

Magnus hides his amused grin behind his own mug; he adores how passionate Jon gets about his Ren’s places of worship. “Not every institute has someone like you,” he admits before noticing the audience they have and mentally reaching out to warn Jon.

**“I really don’t understand what you mean, Uncle Elias…”**

“You were the easiest pick for any position of power, especially down here. I know that Robinson would have chosen someone different, someone who was here longer, but you were made to be the Archivist.” Magnus accepts his own box of curry from Jon. “I didn’t have to think about it because I Knew that you belonged here… Usher, while I agree that it is the most useless of our sister organizations, it doesn’t have someone like you.”

Jon blushes hotly and mutters out a quiet, ' **thanks…'** before scarfing his curry as if afraid it would run.

* * *

Martin stops by Gerry’s desk after Magnus leaves, a question circling viciously in his mind. “Usher is the American Institute, right?”

Gerry looks up from his phone and nods. “Yeah, why’re you asking?”

“I’m… curious. Why would they be contacting us about a new head? I know we’re the oldest institution, but Elias isn’t the oldest institute head, is he?”

Gerry looks a bit perplexed, but it’s clear that he isn’t as curious as Martin is. “I don’t think he is, but Gertrude always said that the Magnus Institute always calls the shots. Regardless of how new the head is, whatever he wanted, he got…”


	18. Basira and Daisy

The archives are surprisingly quiet when two detectives step into them. The assistants have been given the day off, because Jon Knew that they were coming. He appears around a back stack as they arrive, carrying a grumpy cat in his arms.

**"Hey, Sira,"** he chirps,  **"you're here about Robinson, aren't you?"**

"Yeah,” she replies and gestures to her partner with a gentle wave. “This is Daisy.”

Jon looks over the blonde woman with an appraising look in his luminous eyes before letting loose an inhuman sort of purr that triggers all sorts of warning bells in Daisy.  **“So you’re Daisy… I’ve been wanting to meet you.”**

The shock slides back behind the always present desire to rip and tear and  _ hunt.  _ “What the hell are you?” There’s a snarl on the Hunter’s face, a ravenous, volatile expression that sends a chill up Jon’s spine. She takes a step forward, muscles tensing as if readying to leap at him, and Jon Knows just how many non-humans she’s slaughtered… not all were terrible creatures.

Basira notices the change in mood and reaches out to grab Daisy by the shoulder, resetting some of that abundant attention onto herself. “Calm down,” she murmurs, “Jon’s not threatening you or me… He’s a very nice person.”

“He’s  _ not human _ ,” Daisy snaps, baring her teeth.

Jon nods in Understanding.  **“No, I’m not.”** He takes a step closer.  **“But I mean you no harm… Basira is a friend to me, and I would never wish to compromise that.”**

Daisy doesn’t look convinced, but when Basira squeezes her shoulder to draw her attention, the younger woman adds, “you know how I told you about my nonhuman friends in college?” Daisy nods sharply. “Jon is one of those friends… Jon’s the one who helped me get into the force.”

Jon huffs lowly.  **“You did the work. I just helped you study for the entrance exams.”**

“And that was helpful.”

Daisy blinks and slowly relaxes, tilting her head in an almost inquisitive manner. “You’re strange… but I suppose… you’re not a threat.”

**“I try not to be,”** Jon replies,  **“but I am a curious being… and so I feel compelled to ask, is** **_the Hunt as good to you as my ren is to me?”_ **


	19. Participation Slaughter

It's barely two hours into the work day when Jon suddenly appears from his office, a stricken sort of expression on his face as he wrings his hands together nervously. It takes a moment for the assistants to notice him, but when they do, they're interrupted in their desire to find out just what's wrong.

A tall, black woman with tight curls of black hair appears in the stairwell, a haggard expression darkening her face. When her eyes find Jon, it lightens considerably, and a small smile twists her lips into something more approachable. She walks with graceful assuredness, never sparing the assistants a second glance until she can wrap her arms around Jon in a crushing hug. "I'm okay," she whispers, so low that no one else can hear her. "I'm okay."

**"Worried anyway,"** Jon murmurs, curling his fingers into her plaid overshirt. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker than normal as if absent of the inhuman spark that dictates his life. "Tell story?" Melanie nods. "Come with."

The door shuts with a quiet snap that offers no doubt that the assistants would be very much unwelcome at this time. The soft thread of curiosity, the savage desire to know bleeds from their pores as the eldritch they unwittingly serve slices its bow across tight strings of needling unknown before pushing them to remember. They Know the woman's name is Melanie and that she's the girlfriend of Jon's ex-roommate... that she's his friend too.

It stills them in their seats, and in time, they get back to work.

* * *

Melanie curls her arm tighter around the little eldritch laying beside her on the couch. He hums against her shoulder, and she feels his gentle touch against her brain. It's feather-light and kitten-soft with the naivety of someone so, comparatively, young. She gives into his needling and impresses that night upon him…

_ The railcar looks so unimposing, but the night is so dark and quiet. _

_ There’s curiosity burning in her chest, but there’s a warning there too. Whatever lies within the railcar will be so fascinating to see, but perhaps more dangerous than she’s equipped to deal with. She wonders if she should have asked Jon about it or perhaps if she should have asked Georgie if one of her other inhuman friends would be willing to come along… but she’s come so far. _

_ The door opens easily, eager to reveal the horror within. _

_ The smell of blood swamps her, pushing out everything but the sickly scent. _

_ She feels like she’s choking on it, choking on blood and gore and the violent urge to just kill–someone screams. Pain lances up her arm as a scalpel slices into her. She sees her blood on that gleaming blade, held in the hand of a man with a wicked grin. It advances, fully intending on mercilessly slaughtering all of them… but stops so suddenly as another presence makes itself known. _

_ She feels like she’s being watched, but the watcher is less menacing than the creature before her. It soothes her mind, even as it turns the full brunt of its attention onto the ghost threatening her… It reminds her of Jon. _

_ The ghost shrieks, and the railcar rattles and shakes in its agony. The door slams shut so suddenly, separating Melanie and her crew from the monstrous sight, but still, its agonized screams continue until at last the gaze returns to Melanie. _

_ It impresses upon her that she’s safe for now and implores her to keep this a secret from the general public. It pushes her to gather her crew and sneak out of the trainyard and to bandage her arm. It tells her that the cut will likely scar, but the ghost’s madness will not infect her. _

_ She Knows that the presence is Jon's ren, the eldritch abomination that spawned her sweet friend. She Knows that it worried not for her, but for Jon who would be so heartbroken if she died. _

_ And she Knows that Jon knows what she has done… _

Jon lets loose a whimpering sound and nuzzles into Melanie's shoulder further. He impresses upon her the knowledge that she could have been hurt so much more than she was. He tells her that his Avaunt Slaughter is far more dangerous than you first think…

"Jon," she whispers, her breath hitching slightly when luminous green eyes meet hers, "I'm okay… I won't go back to that railyard."

Jon nods shallowly.  **"And you'll stay away from the battleground in India, yes?"**

That question throws her off; she hadn't even mentioned that idea to Georgie yet. "...what do you mean?"

**"War ghosts… you want to research Indian war ghosts."** After a moment, Melanie nods.  **"You will not."**

"Jon–"

**"Avaunt Slaughter could claim you if you're hurt… I don't want that; Georgie doesn't want that… and neither do you."** He pauses for a moment as if contemplating the options.  **"If you leave, I'm coming too."**

Melanie blinks at him before eventually smiling. "I won't go if you're so sure…"

Jon hums appreciatively, and Melanie knows that she's made him quite happy.


	20. Forsake the Normal

There’s a silence in the archives that hasn’t been since Edward’s body was found at its doors. The assistants are curious, but Jon seems more to be fastidious, not frantic, and so they try to put their curiosity to the side. But the archives are so very quiet, and Jon seems to be preparing for something…

It takes two full days of this newfound silence for Jon to call them into his office.

The office is darker than normal, lit only by a singular lamp and the tiny glow-in-the dark eyes that Michael had snuck in to hide; Jon can’t find it in his heart to remove them. Jon’s sitting at his desk, curled up in an oversized sweater that gives him paws which he gladly uses to smack Tim’s hands away from the manila folder on the corner of his desk.

“No touch,” he signs, “secret.”

Tim holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine… what’s up?”

Jon looks down with an almost guilty expression. “Leaving in a week.”

The four assistants make various noises of disbelief, but it’s Martin who voices his thoughts. “Where and for how long? You’ve never left the archives before…”

With a little sigh, Jon flips open the folder to show them the letter bearing the Usher Foundation’s crest. “Want help. Uncle Elias and I will go. Need new head of research. Last died.”

Gerry nods. “I remember, but that doesn’t explain why you have to go physically.”

The look of honest annoyance on the young eldritch’s face is nearly enough to break them all into giggles. “Stupid. Don’t know why… Want me to go. I’m curious… Maybe good statements? Interesting artifacts? Not hold my breath.”

That does pull a little laugh out of the official assistants and an honest smile from Gerry. The latter reaches out to touch Jon’s shoulder in a comforting manner. “What do you want us to do while you’re away?”

Jon looks shocked at that question; he honestly hadn’t thought about it, but he quickly comes to a decision about the most important things. “No statement recording while gone. Separate real from fake only.”

“What if someone comes in to make a statement?” Sasha asks and desperately has to hide her laughter at the disgruntled look that twists her friend’s face.

“Take live statements only.”

Jon hopes that there won’t be any live statements anyways.

* * *

Jon refuses the offer to go out for drinks that night, citing going to dinner with Magnus as the reason. It's this fact that has Jon in his office when Peter arrives with a little box of glittering rocks, pearlescent shells, and shiny sea glass. When he looks up to find Peter standing at his door, he lets out a quiet, happy trill that only grows as he's allowed to peak inside the box.

"Thank you," Jon signs. "Pretty… love them." He beams at Peter before darting through the stacks to hide his new presents in his room.

In the abandoned, empty bullpen, Peter can feel the press of the Beholding’s gaze; it's strangely kind, offering sweetness since he's so good to its kid. It's surprising sometimes, how gentle the watcher is to those it holds as its own, but when Peter watches Jon interact with his friends and Magnus, he's reminded that even the dread horrors can bring something so bright.

Jon returns quickly with his messenger bag and a soft, black sweater pulled over his dress shirt. He quickly pulls Peter into a hug and trills with quiet contentment, so comforted by the smell of the sea.

Peter feels privileged to be given the knowledge that Jon can use recorders to compel his voice… but he feels more so about the knowledge that this bright-eyed young man is the Beholding’s son. He's so glad that Jon feels comfortable enough to relax around him, especially enough for him to allow the old, sea captain to carry him on his back.

Just as they leave the institute's deserted lobby, the tape recorder in Jon's messenger bag clicks on.  **"Are you and Uncle Magnus going to get married again?"**

Peter's suddenly glad that Jon can't see his face. "I… I don't think so."

**"Why not?"**

"We are very different people, Jon." The wind whips through the quiet street as they make their way to the private car where Magnus waits inside. "It's just better this way."

**"Hmm… I still think you should get married again."**

"Yeah?"

**"Mhmm… Want you both to be happy."**

Peter's heart swells, and he turns his head slightly to look Jon in the eye. "I'm happy right now, kiddo… and I know Elias is too."


	21. Christopher Blackwood

The day after Jon leaves, Martin comes across a statement in his box that he almost passes over; it's real and that's all that matters… but then he notices the name: Christopher Blackwood.

He pours through the statement with ravenous curiosity, but beyond the quick mention of his father’s name, there's nothing about Christopher Blackwood… but there is a mention of a Fiona Dahal.

Martin remembers skimming a statement by a Fiona Dahal the week before. It was more or less nonsensical about the recruitment techniques of a cult, but it passed the 'real statement' test. But now, with that name taking on new meaning, he bolts across the room to Gerry's desk where the box is still sitting, the older man being on vacation until tomorrow. Sasha and Tim call out to him, but he doesn't have his hearing aids in; he doesn't even look their way.

Under an empty cigar carton, Martin finds only a photo in the box where the statement of Fiona Dahal once was… He pulls out the photo with a delicate hand… He sees his father… He turns the photo over and looks at the names: Xiao Killian, Angus Stacy, Christopher Blackwood, Fiona Dahal, Clarina Brithers… and Teru and Mary Ellen Sims.

Sasha curls her hand around his and slowly pulls the photo out of his hand. She doesn't recognize the people in the photo, but when she turns it over, she gasps and quickly shows it to Tim.

Martin looks over at them with a confused and conflicted expression… So caught up in his thoughts, he almost misses the question Sasha signs, "is that your father?" He nods.

He can see Tim mouth 'holy shit'. After a beat, he starts rapidly signing. "I swear to God that's Jon's parents. Your dad was in a cult with Jon's parents! What the actual fuck?" He stops for a moment. "Do you think Jon knows?"

Both Sasha and Martin look a bit off-put by that suggestion. "Why would he keep that from us?" the former inquires. "Why would he keep that from Martin?"

Martin, for all his curiosity, refuses to continue speculating; there's something that he's put off for far too long. "I'm going to head out early," he states, looking rather distant. "There's a letter I need to read…"

* * *

When Christopher Blackwood suddenly disappeared on his wife and eight-year-old son, things changed in the Blackwood household. It wasn't a sudden switch, but it wasn't a gradual change either. Martin noticed his mothers incrementally escalating hostility: refusing to help him with his homework, reducing speech therapy, throwing out everything he had of his fathers...

The moment he turned eighteen, Martin wasn’t his mother’s ‘problem’ anymore.

She offered him a month to find a place to stay and refused to speak to him until the day he left for London. That day, she gave him a letter from his father and a twenty pound note…

Even when she took ill, they never spoke again.

As for the letter, Martin stowed it in a box with what few things he managed to save from his mother's wrath over the years. He never read it; he was so sure of what it contained…

But as his fingers tear open the envelope, exposing two sheets of paper: a map of the archives and the letter itself, he finds himself at a loss.

_Martin,_

_I Know not how old you are. I Know not what you think of me. I decided it would be best if your mother decided when she'd hand this over, as long as you got it before you left the house, I am satisfied. Regardless, by the time you read this letter, I am likely dead._

_I know that my leaving was sudden, and I doubt your mother explained any of this to you. I know that she barely understood any of this… So I feel that it is best, if I start from the beginning._

_I will be brief but as complete as I can. It is distressing information, but you need to Know._

_Our ancestor Gladiolus Blackmire was a rotten man. He was arrested many times for fraud, counterfeiting, and robbery. There was nothing he wouldn't do for money._

_During his imprisonment in Millbank Prison, he made a deal with a being called the Beholding. He swore to serve it in return for freedom and wealth, but more than that, he swore his descendants to assist it. From that day, the first born son of each "caretaker" has taken their father's place upon adulthood._

_The Beholding collects people that are of use to it, and many of them come to be a part of the Coven of Many Eyes. It wanted to use us to create a child for it. Most members were fanatical about the Son's birth, but that was years ago._

_If any of them are still alive, don't contact any of the remaining members. The coven belonged to the Beholding, but after our last ritual, it didn't need us anymore. Many of them have already died: Teru and Mary Ellen Sims, Angus Stacy, Fiona Dahal… It hasn't been that long since we fulfilled our purpose; you were a year old when it was finished. But now that it has no use for us, we cannot be protected._

_It has siblings, and they may not be so eager to be kind to us. I Know that Teru Sims was murdered by an agent of the Vast. I Know that Mary Ellen Sims was killed by the Corruption. I Know that Angus Stacy was finally killed by the Stranger. I Know that Fiona Dahal was taken by the Lonely._

_I am sure that I will die soon, but I don't know how. I don't want your mother or you to be caught up in it._

_You are free, and because of that I must warn you: beware the Beholding's Son lest you be dragged into his coven._

_You are deeply touched by the Beholding, and the Son may try to manipulate you through this. You mustn't let him, or you'll never be free again._

_I am so proud of you, and I will never regret what I've had to do to keep you safe. You're worth it, Martin._

_I love you._

_Christopher Blackwood, the Last Caretaker_

_Ps. If you find yourself in the Magnus Institute for any reason and you can't get out, there are tunnels under the building. There's a trapdoor in the archives. I marked it on the map. The Beholding can't see you down there._


	22. States of Shattered

Beholding watches with uncontained glee as Jon investigates everything he can get into at Usher. He's so very inquisitive about this new space; for as much as he despises the smaller institute, it is still a temple to his ren. He wants to Know every inch of that building and the people that work there. He wants to Understand every statement and See every artifact…

But he settles for Beholding showing him what's interesting enough to be a 'right now' experience.

Beholding delights in the way that Jon beams at each new  _ interesting thing _ and the way that Jon seems to preen under its gaze. It's so enraptured by this experience that it fails to notice the trouble brewing in the archives. In a far off sense, it catalogues everything not beyond its unending gaze, but Jon is the only thing it's actively watching.

However, it won't be long before it goes searching for what it Knows.

* * *

Martin slinks into archives, clutching his letter like a lifeline. He sees Sasha, Tim and Gerry standing around the damning photo of the Coven of Many Eyes. He can barely make out what the latter is saying, and he's not exactly surprised.

"...never heard of this. But Angus Stacy was the archivist before Gertrude… died before she took… how would… I don't understand."

Martin sighs and clears his throat noisily to get the trio's attention. "Gerry," he asks, not bothering to sign, "do you know where the entrance to the tunnels are?"

Gerry nods before expanding with his own question. "Why do you want to know?"

"I want to go inside."

* * *

The trapdoor swings open easily enough once Gerry unlocks it with the spare key. A yawning abyss stands under their feet, and Martin, armed with only a torch, a piece of chalk, and the knowledge that the Beholding can’t see them down there, starts walking down the old stairs. Sasha and Tim, still crowded around the letter and growing more panicked with each passing second, make noises of disapproval.

“Can I read it now?” Gerry asks, only the twitch of his outstretched betrays how curious he really is. The other two assistants give him looks of mild horror and pained understanding, but at last they acquiesce and disappear into the black maw. Gerry follows last, closing the door but pocketing the lock to it. He reads by the light of his torch and follows without looking where he’s going; he trusts that Martin will lead them the right way.

By the time Gerry resurfaces, just as confused and worried as the others, Martin has led them down a fair way, bypassing one of the offshoots in favor of one splattered with the remnants of old blood. They don’t know that it’s old blood, and they certainly don’t know it came from Robinson.

Martin continues, his eyes peeled for any sign of danger or something… interesting. He trusts that the others will let him know if they hear anything peculiar. He knows he should be more careful, but there’s this angry, vile beast thrumming in his chest. He needs to know what’s down this offshoot. He needs to know where that blood came from. He…

He wonders if Robinson died down here.

Martin points to a mostly worn chalk drawing of an eye beside one another offshoot and turns to look at the others. “I want to go down this way. Do you hear anything?”

Gerry, having pocketed the letter, does his best to sign without blinding anyone by the flashlight still in his hand. “No… I should go first though. Just in case something goes wrong.”

Martin nods and steps to the side, watching as his friend ventures into the narrow opening. Sasha squeezes his arm lightly in an attempt to draw his attention away, but he won’t look away.

After a moment, Gerry calls out, Knowing that Sasha and Tim will relay his message. “I found Gertrude’s cardigan… and a tape… You better get in here.”

The moment Martin breaks through, he finds Gerry already setting up the tape; he’s grateful that he has his hearing aids in, but he’s more so when Tim begins to interpret anyway.

_ “This is Gertrude Robinson, the head archivist of the Magnus Institute in London. Today's date is March 15th, 2015. I have reason to suspect that I will be killed soon. Hopefully, whoever finds this tape is someone who will take its information to heart and use it for the greater good. If not, then my death is certainly folly. _

_ The body of Elias Bouchard is possessed by the founder of the institute, Jonah Magnus. Magnus has been possessing the bodies of previous heads to keep control of his institute and remain immortal. He is a most faithful servant of the Beholding, and I Know that he will be more powerful than the next Archivist will be for quite some time. I am unsure of how to kill him exactly, but I am sure that the answer lies in the archives. _

_ Magnus is dangerous, but he is not the most pressing concern. _

_ Two days ago, I discovered a lockbox containing statements, a diary, a photo, and artifacts belonging to the Coven of Many Eyes. The statements were made by members of the coven about their own initiation and the night that the Beholding’s Son was born. The diary belongs to Taru Sims and documents his descent into the esoteric; he has come across many artifacts belonging to the Fears. _

_ I tried to hide these in boxes within the archives. My hope is that neither Magnus or the Beholding will know where they have been hidden. Perhaps, they will be of some use to my successor. _

_ If my successor is Sasha James, like I intend, she might be worth trusting; however, her ties to Jonathan Sims are troubling. There is a chance that she, Martin Blackwood, Timothy Stoker, and Gerard Keay are members of the Son’s new coven. There is a chance that they are compromised. You need to be sure that they haven’t taken a vow to that thing. _

_ I intend to kill the Son today, but I fear that I will fail. So know this, Jonathan Sims is the Son of the Beholding, and I fear that he’s meant to start the apocalypse. If he is still alive, then you must kill him; the fate of the entire world rests on it.” _

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that not every deaf or hard of hearing person will take to or even want speech therapy, but I thought it would be a cute little visual... It will also set up a baseline for Jon's comfort with someone else as his voice: Martin.


End file.
